


Tales of the Pulse Part 5 - Beware the Stalker

by Titan_MassMind



Series: Tales of the Pulse [6]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femdom, Multi, Weirdshit, femalemuscle, femalemusclefetish, heavydomination, slavebreaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titan_MassMind/pseuds/Titan_MassMind
Summary: Six months ago, the Pulse ended the world.  Elwin Yeung was one of the lucky ones, at least for a man.  He was hiding in a bathtub when a Hunter came to get him, and she didn't kill him.Her name is Hanna Davis, and they used to game together.  His introduction into her service was thorough and awful.  Pleasures beyond number.Pain without end.  it hasn't even ended now that he has a job.  In fact, it's brought some new ones.For reasons not shared with a slave, he is to act as scout and lookout along the one border as harsh as stone, and less polite.  Saving a Hunter the duty.More than one and a half thousand kilometers long and twenty five kilometers of unmoving horror to a barrier impermeable to even Hunter senses, the Deadzone makes even Hunters forget about it from far away.  Close up, it draws Stealers, Hunters, and humans alike into its deadly embrace.  The great unseen predator, the Stalker lairs there, and judges those who dare cross.Harshly.It has deadened Elwin to anything and everything, even survival.  But still, his job is about to get much harder.  Not because of the mutant Stealer he has to report on.  But because Hanna is back.And she wants something from him...
Relationships: OC/OC
Series: Tales of the Pulse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602472
Comments: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Six Months After the Pulse

It is the edge of the San Jose Deadzone. Mariposa, CA wasn't the biggest town in the world before the leading edge of a trail of devastation and ruins twenty-five kilometers thick (at least) and more than _one and a half thousand_ kilometers long went straight through the town. The "at least" is because no one knows what happens after twenty-five kilometers.

It looks like a thousand little wars happened all at once, but everyone agreed to use twenty-five kilometer deep playmats and set up a tournament. Burnt-out buildings and vehicles, some _still_ smouldering six months after the Pulse, shattered roads, rubble, downed-- dead-- trees, buildings lying in _pieces_ …

And dried blood splattered everywhere. You'd think there would be flies. But this is the Deadzone.

Just a few kilometers past Elwin Yeung's "blind"-- by which his _owners_ mean a carefully refurbished bunker set into a hill-- there's a spot where the top of a parking garage, mostly intact, is vertically bisecting an old Bank of America. The middle, cut off with weirdly smooth lines, like the world’s most perfect knife made them, is standing freakishly unchanged in the middle of a community playground, balanced on the scythed-off remnants of its support columns.

The cars are all there. It's deep enough in the zone that no one's going to casually try to loot or break them.

The bottom is a crater. One of the ones still smoking six months later, but not oppressively so. Just enough that it's hard to make out exactly what's in the pit, and easy to believe that something alive is moving down there.

But of course, nothing probably. Probably. This is the Deadzone. There's a reason for the name.

At the twenty-five kilometer mark, vision falls to pieces. It doesn't look like a distortion; it doesn't look like a gap; it doesn't make your eyes bleed or even water. It's just _wrong_.

No one-- not even Hunters, not even satellites-- can see what's past twenty-five kilometers, either. They're pretty sure that _something's_ there. After all, _something_ is sending out requests on the internet and remnant cell networks.

The fact that data, hosted sites, and requests keep making it back and forth, yet nearly completely anonymized, is even more disturbing to Elwin. It shouldn't be, but it's about the only thing he can really get a handle on. The blood and guts are horrifying, but he's seen the Hunters in action.

Laughing and sobbing brawnier versions of Amazons, naked and painfully beautiful, coming after anyone from tough guy cops to martial arts masters to metahuman bricks and dealing with them by just touching them lightly on the forehead.

Which then causes their bodies to evaporate in clouds of red and grey mist.

Elwin can't really be disturbed by that happening to anyone else anymore. He's frightened of many of the things out here. But the gory, instantaneous death? 

All that means now is one less thing to attack him. The internet thing bothers him more. He used to work for an ISP before someone-- someone he is careful not to criticize, even in his own head-- decided his time in the Boy Scouts made him just perfect for actual _scouting_ duty.

A scout, for people who can see through walls and don't seem to have any limits as to how many things they can pay attention to at a single time.

 _I have to learn not to complain,_ Elwin reminds himself, shaking slightly as he remembers the alternative occupations available. _I have to learn not to complain. I have to learn not to complain._

After all, he's only lived under the Pride, then Moto-Lita, and _then_ Candyland.

He's always been allowed to wear clothes. So far. Which gets him back to praying desperately that he'll learn not to complain.

The world seems to have developed a sick sense of irony, these days. Elwin would really rather not become a Bower Boy because someone out there was listening, somehow. At least as long as he "keeps them happy," they've promised not to kill him.

Or to make him want to ask them to kill him.

There's movement out to the east. Not quite in the Deadzone. He lifts up the binoculars; suddenly, he's staring at what looks like melted purplish wax. The hairs on his back stand up while his eyes try to close and his teeth try to chatter, but he doesn't have time for terror.

Stomach twisting, Elwin puts his phone away for a moment, then reaches up to adjust the binoculars a bit. Exhaling heavily, he pulls them back up, and definitely sees a mass of roughly human-sized people. _Nomads,_ he tells himself, as the twist becomes a clench.

_Just think of them as nomads, not slaves, because we're all slaves to someone, not cannibals, because then you have to start thinking about where all those little bones came from, and for God's sake-- not as people, because you know what's going to happen, one way or another._

He lets his eyes squeeze shut the way he wants to, forces himself to breathe slow, and rests both elbows on the high sill. This time, he walks his line of sight carefully to where he thinks he last saw it. The towering sight makes him wish he hadn't-- or at least, wish he didn't have to. 

Elwin fumbles around for the notepad, and sticks it on the windowsill. His wiry arms are trembling less, which is good, because he needs the right arm, at least. Pencil out, he jots down his first impressions.

The shorthand is scribbly, having all the sliding and skipping he doesn't dare permit his fingers on the phone, but he gets the numbers down first, then the general condition and equipment. He loses a moment reminding himself it doesn't matter if their equipment matters, or if their condition matters. Grimacing, he looks around with the ol' mark I eyeballs.

Yes, he can see the _thing_ and its human-like-- except for the extra arms and other extras-- shape walking around freely now. Closer and closer to the Deadzone. And to the only hope he has: that _it_ will pass him on by, and then straight into the Deadzone, so he doesn't have to try to follow their party.

Elwin doesn't need to walk outside for the chill at that possibility. No one is coming to save him if he has to follow them. No one is going to tell him he's doing a good job, but let the professionals handle it.

_No Justice League. No Superman. The Batman, if he lives, if he was ever real at all-- he's busy. Wonder Woman disappeared. The Titans were gone before the Pulse, and Young Justice with them. Could they even deal with one of these things, if they were here? _

He swallows, and takes a look in his binoculars again, taking a few short notes as he watches the thing a little closer. Five arms, an extra one on the right. What looks like eight chest subdivisions, instead of two or four to six. Thickly built; muscles that look like _actual_ muscles, not just blobs with dribbles running between them.

The rest of it...

Lots of skulls and bones for decoration. The poorly-cured leather of its (thankfully present) loincloth doesn't look sewn together, so probably from something bigger than a human. Probably.

Some glowing bits. Actual magic, misplaced tech, bioluminescence, a mix?  Too hard to tell from this range.

Elwin keeps writing as they keep moving. Its-- _Dear_ God _let me keep thinking of it as an it--_ followers keep stopping every so often to make some sort of cheer or ceremony, or to pick something up.

Sometimes, some _one_ up.

They cheer even more enthusiastically when the _fucking thing bites one of them in half, spraying them all with gore._

He's learned to stop crying unless one of his owners has him to hand. They like the taste. They'll work him hard to get it.

It doesn't matter, in some ways; they're skirting closer and closer to the Deadzone. This is all incredibly pointless, except that he was ordered to do it. Which means it is absolutely vital, and more importantly, vital to do it right in all particulars.

Even though they're going to die. Even though even if they _weren't_ going to die, it would take his owners, their… allies… or worse, their bosses to do something about a Stealer more than a story tall. And his bosses can probably see them from wherever they are right now anyway, if that became an issue, or if they gave a shit.

But it isn't likely to because they're heading even more sharply towards the line of devastation. _Devastation demarcation,_ the stupidly flippant part of him thinks. Trying to get him to giggle.

As far as Elwin Yeung knows, anyone-- _anyone_ \-- who tries getting across, just dies. How you die depends on who you are. The Pulse played favorites, anyone knows that.

So does the Deadzone.

Just the opposite, as near as Elwin can tell, of the rest of the world. In the rest of the world, Hunters-- like the five who own Elwin, decided what job he'd be doing if he wanted to eat, breathe, and, you know, not die horribly while being raped even more horribly-- are at the top of the heap.

Stealers, like the ones he's keeping an eye on despite the fact that his owners can apparently keep track of like a bajillion things, come next. Some of them are individually more powerful than individual Hunters; he's even seen that, here on the border. He's never seen a Hunter die to a Stealer, but they've been driven off.

Wise Stealers flee at that point. At least, sane ones do. About the only thing that seems to enrage Hunters more than men who believe they're powerful or in control is the mere _existence_ of Stealers.

 _What the_ hell _happened in myth or history to require not just supposedly planet-killing predators, but swarms of them?_

After the Stealers come what are euphemistically called the Strong, online. Elwin isn't sure if they even exist in a free state anyway; all the examples-- Poison Ivy, Stormrider, the Martian Manhunter, Supergirl, Superboy-- seem to all be either "concubines" of Hunters, or under "protective custody" of Hunters.

No one knows if Superman even gets _that_ much. The Princesses claim they do. And it's not like it isn't very clear what will happen to the once-mightiest of Earth's heroes if he reverts to type.

And then everyone else. It doesn't matter if you can shoot radioactive marmosets from your fingers, levitate cars with your mind, or are just a flat-out ordinary human. You are property, you are living food, or you're dead.

Possibly because you  _ were  _ food. Even the male versus female thing only matters so much. Elwin's life is a little bit more miserable because he's a guy. He's a little bit more likely to be made into a Bower Boy than an Elwina into a Go-Girl, perhaps. In the end, though, he's got an apartment, his room and board are covered, and Moto-Lita says his owners have to provide him with a bit of payment on top of that.

(Elwin finds it hilarious that _everyone,_ including Candyland, in North America still uses dollars. Something about promises kept. Though you can tell which ones went through Candyland by the defacing.)

In the Deadzone… 

Elwin takes another look through his binoculars and grimaces. The Stealer, taller than most of the single-story buildings around, is standing with hi-- _its_ \-- with its back to the Deadzone border, still quite a ways away. It's gesticulating wildly with all its various limbs and-- roaring loud enough Elwin can hear distant rumbles in his so-called blind.

_It can't really think that it's going to do better than the three-story tall horror I couldn't stop dreaming about for days, can it?_

Some of the blood and viscera had actually splattered nearby buildings up here!

The creature's five arms weave and its fingers make little, bloodstained traces in the air. Crackling energy dances from the creature to most of its followers. Elwin bites his lip. He doesn't want to, but…

He looks closer in the binoculars, shuddering. It takes a moment, and he has to look at far too many recognizable t-shirts, jackets, and dress clothes all soaked in blood, old and new. He takes another set of notes.

Has magic. Appears to use blood-splatter from cannibalism to connect energies to followers. Unknown results; followers do not show visible signs.

Elwin shudders. It's amazing how much horror someone can get used to in a few weeks, and how much you can't. _It wasn't really any easier when they had me looking over the ISP records. Hanna came by more often, then._

In the Deadzone, humans and metahumans and robots and aliens and whatever else can hope for the unknown to be an improvement.

In the Deadzone, Hunters or Stealers, it doesn't matter.

The result is always the same.

Just like trying to deal with Internet-- and, Elwin supposes, cellular-- communications coming into and out of the Deadzone. He saw the records. Scraped up e-mails, downloaded at various normal speeds, passwords and usernames correct.

Try to refuse lookups without certain fingerprints? They have them. And either someone from within the Deadzone is making new computers constantly, or they're faking the fingerprints over huge arrays.

No one in Elwin's old circle of-- not-quite-colleagues, call it ISP techs carping on invite-only forums-- who's been pressed into service keeping things running is sure how that works. Or how whoever it is in the Deadzone is making everything-- including stored data that should be dumped-- appear like it's still the Night of the Pulse.

On any website lookup that goes through the Deadzone, nothing has changed. About the servers, about the webpages, about storage-- anything. Outside access will let you poke around, but you can't delete anything or add anything new.

People who own webpages and the like outside of the Deadzone are starting to send redirects elsewhere, now that the Hunters have decided that rampaging through data lines means an unacceptable loss of cute cat pictures, and the Bat's VPNs have started to allow mundane communication through… occasionally.

But the old stuff is still there, waiting. The amount of work it should take just to keep file storage from getting dumped… Melted keyboards, even for Hunters.

It's an entire uncanny valley, to anyone who knows even a little bit about the way the internet should work. Maybe that's why it bothers him more than seeing people vanish. And a lot less than watching monsters die in bloody chunks.

Even if some of those monsters are beautiful.

It bothers Elwin, a bit, that the Virtual Deadzone weirds him out more than exploding Hunters and vanishing humans. But not much.

Being bothered by his own emotional survival mechanisms is a luxury he ceased to have months ago.

Or that's what he hopes, anyway. Because otherwise, he's going to go mad out here.

Not many people try crossing anymore. Not humans or Hunters, anyway-- not on their own. But the group of humans he's been inexplicably assigned to watch aren't on their own. Inexplicably assigned to watch with nothing other than a dodgy-looking black market energy weapon, some binoculars, and a cellphone.

And all the survival gear he can carry on his pack and body harness. Heaven-- or whoever's in charge here and now-- forfend his "post" be stocked. He really doesn't want to think about what's going into the water at this place.

Elwin is uncomfortably aware that he's developing what his owners and their peers call _lip_ or _brattiness_ or _something to call it your own fault when we rape and torture you like we were planning to anyway._ He sighs, and switches to his pointless cell camera, zooming in to take pointless pictures of people who might have been neighbors once.

Maybe people he saw walking from his car to his office. One of the guys looks horribly familiar, under the blood and inexpertly applied body paint. The jokes he used to make about how a single snowflake turned his fellow Mariposan natives into cannibal cultists, ready to sacrifice their fellow drivers to the Snow Gods don't seem quite so funny.

Not with the four and a half meter tall Stealer mutant they're pretty clearly treating as a god walking among them. _Do they think it blesses them? Do they think_ that _is a blessing?_

 _That_ happens quickly. Elwin was just taking a picture of a small group when the Stealer decided to "bless" them. Maybe to signal them to move again.

He turns aside for a few horrible moments, sobbing and shuddering. But soon enough, he knows he has to look over again. If he misses something…

He'll wish he was the woman "blessed."

The details hammer him again. Five human-looking arms, two less-human-looking legs, and a patchy-haired, human-like head with sharp fangs instead of teeth, but nothing else-- maybe the eyes-- looks even remotely human. The rest, starting with the throbbing purple skin, covered in muscles that look like bubbled wax with _yellow_ veins-- maybe veins…

(The beautiful Stealers are worse, but thankfully more rare. Beauty is something that can be Stolen, and the ways that approaches the alien beauty of the Hunter's… Is unhealthy, for someone already imprinted.)

Elwin can't think of it as human, no; not after seeing it just grab one and eat her. He couldn't look away then. He couldn't.

But what was worse than watching it devour the woman-- that was more or less in one gulp-- was watching how its followers reacted.

By cheering. And worse… _No!_

 _I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't_ have _to know. I just have to take the stupid pictures._ Elwin raises the camera, checks to make sure the flash is off, and starts to take a few more.

Better to have more than what they need, for whatever it is that they need it for, than be told he's just earned _special_ treatment.

He takes a moment to carefully tap up the subject line and explanations. For a while, he worked on developing his left handed one-thumb typing. Keeping his right hand on the grip of the gun at all times.

It only took one "educational" session with Hanna for Elwin to discard that. Just one typo. One cnannibal.

 _The gun won't save me if that_ thing _comes for me. And it might just kill me if I use it to defend myself against its followers-- its worshippers-- anyway. So why not spare myself broken toes again and--_

"Hey, baby!" _Smack!_ "Good to see you working on your typing skills!"

Elwin cries out as the pain spreads over his ass, the searing pain printing over both cheeks and throbbing out from there. Hastily developed reflexes keep him from spoiling his pic send or dropping the phone. They also put his mouth on automatic.

"Thank you mistress!" he yelps. "I appreciate your instruction!" Parts of him do so much more stiffly than the rest.

"Yeah, you do," Hanna chuckles, squeezing his agonized ass, and then sighs dramatically. "I remember you used to be _all_ about the appreciation, too, and look where we are now!"

"In our proper places," Elwin whispers. It's bad when any of the mistresses decides to give him personal attention.

Especially Hanna, who used to be his friend. "You're damn right, little piggie," the two and a third meters-tall, immensely muscled woman says with a sneer. _I thought we were friends…_

She gives him another look, dark brown eyes skeptical, the sneer twisting across her lips, and the echoes of lust following. Like she knows what he's thinking-- she just doesn't give a shit. That's a relief, honestly.

It hurts so much more when Hanna cares. Always. Even when it starts with something like mercy.

Finishing off groping his ass-- nearly bringing his tailbone to the edge of breaking and almost tearing the muscle right above the left cheek-- Hanna grabs one of the cans of Monsters he's been allotted to help stay awake, and downs it, almost all in one go while he watches.

"Ahhh," Hanna says with a happy sigh. "It's like drinking well-fucked nerd tears. Thanks for the hospitality, Elwin."

"That which the Pride lends me, the Pride may take, even my breath," Elwin says, studiously keeping his eyes on the ground. _I mean, I was never fond of the taste, but I'm not sure how well I can trust the water here. Guess I get the chance to find out now._

She might punish him for not staring and worshiping her with his eyes. She might punish him for not keeping an eye on the Stealers. Of course, she might also punish him for "looking above his station," or "ignoring me, you little prick!"

Looking at the floor at least doesn't carry the other hazards of those.

"Yeah, basically." Then Hanna belches at him, laughing, and tosses him the can. "Crush it," she orders as he fumbles around, trying not to drop his equipment.

He manages to cup it between his arm and his chest while she snickers. "May I place down the equipment the Pride has gifted me, mistress?" he asks-- while already trying to squeeze the aluminum can with nothing more than his forearm and his ribcage.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she replies. _Oh, good. Not_ too _bored-- or too horny._

It's a relief; she's being cruel, but not completely unpleasable. The days when she's bored enough to want to play with her "old friend," or horny enough to "grab some fucking fifth-tier tail," those are the bad days.

The days when she's feeling _nostalgic_ for gaming are pretty damn near the worst of all.

His hips ache as he fumbles down the binoculars and phone, letting the rifle swing back on its strap. Careful not to drop the can. His hips ache, his shoulders throb, his cock throbs in different but even worse ways-- he's got lots of little twinges from bad days.

And the good ones have problems of their own.

Hanna laughs at him as he noisily squishes the can as flat as he can with his hands, nearly cutting them along the way. He doesn't know if she'd decide to hurt him for "throwing her gift away" or something if he put it on the floor to squash. His neck trembles slightly, eyes widening and breath becoming ragged as he tries very hard not to speculate.

Finally he looks up, with the long can as flat as he can manage. "My mistress, I have completed this task as well as my measly male muscles can," he says softly. He's looking up, but mostly at her mouth.

As terrible as her honeyed, red-lipped smile is, it's not nearly so bad as looking directly at her dark brown eyes-- let alone staring at her insanely powerful body. All of her wants to devour him. At least her mouth is honest about that, and the weight of pain is less if he's not looking straight at her gorgeous body and all its deadly strength.

Besides, sometimes, when he looks in her eyes and she's not angry?

He thinks he can see his friend in there, silently screaming to get out.

"Can't can the can, huh?" Hanna asks, laughing again. Her wild, frizzy brown 'fro bobs with it; as do the powerful muscles of her neck and the endlessly hypnotic mass of her breasts.

He can't help his peripheral vision. "Let's see what the weak little girl can manage for ya, Elwin." The contempt in her voice is nearly literally biting.

_I never called you weak, Hanna. I held open a few doors for you. I did the same for Jack or Lawrence, if they were behind me._

Neither Jack nor Lawrence survived Pulse night, Elwin hopes. He hasn't heard from them. That means the mistresses have them, or had them.

He's not stupid enough to believe anyone in _Candyland_ got to the supposed Resistance.

He's not sure he's stupid enough to believe there _is_ a Resistance, other than as a plaything and lure for the mistresses' games.

Elwin isn't suicidal yet and wouldn't want to die that slowly anyway, so he doesn't say anything. She just takes the can between her thumb and forefinger, yawns, and presses down; it disappears in a horrendous screech. Just poof, gone.

He's proud that he doesn't jump this time, though by her light groan of pleasure and that awful, delicious smell of Hunter-pussy moistening up, she knows his terror. His bitterness. His nausea.

His arousal.

Hanna's tongue strokes across her beautiful, slightly puffy lips. She's leaning backwards, with her rear to the apartment's countertop, between the sink and the stove. Her nearly-bare (and damn near perfect) ass is resting on the counter-- because that's where it comes up to her with her feet planted firmly on the floor.

That beautiful face is tilted towards him. Dark eyes searching him; they say when a Hunter looks straight at you, they can weigh your soul, or at least your sins against womankind in general and them in particular. She isn't flexing, but already her shoulders are broad enough you could have stood Jack, Lawrence, _and_ Elwin in front of her and not only would they not have her shoulder-breadth _combined_ …

Hanna would have more deltoid mass and definition than they did-- combined-- and probably to scale. Standing there casually, evaluating him and his failings, they've already got that slightly dimpled look around the top-outside, and little grooves running in almost hoop-shapes around each shoulder. They look like the side of a hill with a road spiraling up it, but with a series of further lines of definition arcing down like dry waterfalls.

He lets out a little defeated sigh, and blinks away dry tears. He can't look away; he remembers what she's done to him across those shoulders, and he can't look away. About the only thing he can even hope for right now is for some clue as to whether or not she's going to punch him for staring at her "like he did before," or for being a "proud little piggie."

Elwin feels the shakes trying to run up his body as he waits on her pleasure, and his stomach twists in time with the swimming of his head. She confuses him so much. Especially when she has that sneer on her lips, like now, but so much pain in her eyes he wants to comfort _her_.

 _What are we to each other?_ he wonders. _Am I just some piece of jerky she chews on occasionally until I'm all used up?_ He feels dry, worn out.

_Or is the reason she hates me so much because there's something I could do or say to give her some release that my best fumblings beneath her cleft never could?_

He can barely contemplate Hanna, even-- too tired to watch the endless grooves and bulges cross between those powerful shoulders, framing on her pecs, partially visible to him as tightly defined, blunt, oblong domes. Distinct from the mammoth breasts and their utterly inadequate chainmail "cover."

 _Oh, God, you're staring at her tits, Elwin!_ He freezes, jerks his head up while his neck locks in place. Trying to stare worshipfully at that crisply shaped swell from her back to her neck-- the trapezius, he thinks? It doesn't matter-- if she wants an excuse to crush him in her cleavage, to spank him, to punch him-- anything, she has it.

Not that she needs it. Her lips curl back, the sneer now a smug, broad smile, but her eyes… They look sad? Disappointed? He _doesn't know,_ and that makes him even more terrified.

 _What are we to each other,_ Elwin Yeung wonders, _that she took me from my home apartment, from my job, and put me on the edge of horror?_

Hanna Davis stares at him. There are no answers in those eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanna Davis used to be friends with Elwin Yeung. RPGs are a good way for a fun evening every so often, and they played together. Then the Pulse happened.
> 
> And almost nothing anyone did before matters. Husband or dominatrix, friend or feminist, submissive or even a big backer for one of the actual Hunters, it does not matter. Some live because of what they were, some die; some wish they were dead, and some are too stunned and entranced to think of anything but living for their new mistress.
> 
> About the only thing that does matter?
> 
> If you were an enemy, if they took offense at you, if you did anything to draw their hatred.
> 
> That hatred will never be forgotten. Elwin knows that the only things that change are for the worse, and that they only get worse from there. He wonders what he did, if he did anything, that made it so personal for her.
> 
> Hanna wants to get affectionate; her caresses turn every nerve to agony. She wants to cuddle him; her hugs shatter his bones. She wants to comfort him.
> 
> She is his torment, her visage and her voice his nightmares and wet dreams alike. A walking muscledom fantasy he didn't know he had until she made him have it.

Hanna Davis is one of five women who owns Elwin Yeung. A little over half a year ago, Elwin would have laughed at someone who said something similar. Or snorted, and asked if the person had seen some weird LiveJournal quiz of Hanna's, or if he should be asking Hanna about her fanfiction.net accounts.

A little over half a year ago, Elwin considered her a friend. He was vaguely aware of gender issues in his world, both IT and political. He didn't think about it much. He just tried to be polite.

Not "courtesy" that treated her like she couldn't think or choose for herself, either. He just tried to treat her like he would Jack, or Lawrence, or their GM, Milo. Not from fear; just from friendship, and a vaguely inchoate idea that he didn't want to be treating Hanna the way that people made assumptions about him being Asian-American and in tech.

It's not that he didn't know there _were_ crazies out there.

You don't live in a world where the names Poison Ivy and Circe get heard a lot-- and Maxima sometimes comes for a visit-- without getting the idea. And while the name Candy Mandy is roared or screamed now, it was whispered even then.

You don't live through having demigoddess amazons attack your nation over the treatment of their princess after she killed some guy for maybe mind-controlling Superman and turning a bunch of people into cyborgs without looking up some pretty weird stuff online. Some of it was about as real as Lolth and the Drow; some of it was pure fetish fantasy, and some of it… was very real indeed.

A little under half a year ago, the whole world got to learn how real it all was. And because the Pulse played favorites and Hanna Davis' dice came up Hunter, he got to learn it again and again. He still wishes he knew _why._

Hanna is sitting on the countertop in the kitchen of the apartment he lives in. He can't call it "his apartment;" it belongs to Hanna and her wives. Yvette, April, Kelly, Shawna. So she can put her chainmail-and-nothing clad butt on whatever surface she likes.

It's been Elwin's face she's chosen, often enough over the last few months. He's deliberately trying to get muscle-lost, to become so hypnotized by the endless, fractal definition of her gargantuan muscles-- just a small part of the top of her traps should do it-- because the alternative is to be drawn back down to her cushiony, perfect breasts, and then he'll start drooling.

He'd rather be numb-- or numb-er-- when that happens, because it will at least cut some of the pain. Briefly. She flexes idly-- no, she shifts her shoulders when she frowns at him, and his chance to leave his body and his soon-to-be-pain behind is gone.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he rasps. "I don't know what you want from me, now." _Get it over with, like that woman who was bit in half, maybe. If I have to be lippy, it might as well be useful._

She just stares at Elwin. He's gotten in better shape over the last few months, far better than occasional hiking and mountain biking kept him, IT job or no IT job. He's had to. But compared to her, he's a pile of wet noodles someone is hanging from the ceiling to get vertical.

He knows he should be at attention, but he can't help it. The more she stares, the more his muscles go limp with despair. After all, his dick isn't a muscle; it's about the only thing that's hard now.

The silent titan in his kitchen is more than two feet taller than he is, but three times as broad in the shoulders, he's certain. Yet it's not just her squishy-soft breasts and her lush bubble butt that are curvy on her. Her arms have perfect development, yet it's shaped by the tertiary muscles to bend and curve where the human body naturally does.

He dreams of Hanna-- of all of his owners-- even when they haven't used him or reminded him of his place. Her thighs-- _dear God, being between them is one of my only wet dreams and yet the PAIN--_ are these deadly, undulating masses of hard muscles with long bridge-cable like ones mixed in to taste.

But her legs are so curvy they seem to be swishing even when she's standing still-- like she is now, mostly resting what's not against her butt on her heels, her bare toes wiggling idly. So curvy, so right-- so deadly, so terrifying.

Elwin used to play Pathfinder with her once a week. IM a few times a day. He doesn't know what he did to offend her then.

She sometimes makes references to him "appreciating" her, but he can't tell if she means she thought he was leering before the Pulse or she remembers how he worshiped her like a graven idol when she strolled into his apartment two days later and plucked him out from where he was trying to hide in the bathtub.

_Did I do anything at all? They say Yvette had a perfectly happy marriage, but Stan… Didn't last the night. Pulse night._

_Think about it that way. Clean. Cold. Distant.  
_

_ A guy you saw in a photograph once, not the one another shellshocked pet of Yvette's warned you about… in graphic detail. _

Besides, it doesn't matter. You could have been the biggest feminist or ally ever and it wouldn't matter. Candyland is ruled by gynarchs, who think feminists are disgraceful collaborators.

At best.

 _At least Warqueen Lita got those L-l-leash Laws changed._ Even in his head, he stutters. And the wide eyes of his enormously muscled former friend tell him Hanna knows what he's thinking about.

You could be someone who used to drop thousands of dollars on extreme femdom porn every month; extreme muscle-fetish societal-change femdom porn, at that. Unless you had a Hunter mistress who treated you as some sort of pampered pet already anyway, it still wouldn't matter. They'd laugh at you and say you were getting what you wanted, or sneer and tell you that you used to consume porn; now you are food for the Hungers.

Hanna starts to curl her hands into fists, both of them. The ripples spread. She's not _that_ much taller than him, no…

But the grooved, sculpted mass of beautiful flesh running anterior to the forearm-- both the heavy bulge just below the elbow and even the tapered-down parts moving towards the wrist-- look like they could hold _six_ of his.

Part of Elwin hopes this is it. He can only smile a little; it'd make his face a bigger target if he could smile more. But like his arms and his spine and his legs, his face just wants to fall.

Besides, her forearms look like she could fit eight of his within, if he stares long enough. If the power of her beauty turns actively invasive. Once he looks, it's usually hard to turn away, but this time, for whatever reason, his eyes fall back to his feet.

That doesn't help too much; he sees the bulges in his mind's eyes crisp and clear.

Elwin did none of those things, was none of those things, except maybe the ally thing; and he'd have told you loudly he liked women who looked like they kicked butt in his action movies. That he thought the sticks-and-bones starvation look was horrible. It's never mattered.

 _Nothing_ matters except the whimsy of the Hunters and the strength of their given promises, and nothing helps. There are no more heroes or even reluctant villains; they're all dead or wish they were, now. Except for the ones who _are_ Hunters or Stealers.

He doesn't exactly shudder; even though that would feed Hanna just enough to increase her appetite. He lists to the left a bit, and sighs again, swallowing. Presumption…

_Could get me killed, I guess. Should I ask her if I should go down to my knees? Maybe that will work._

No one is coming to save Elwin Yeung, just like no one is coming to save those poor bastards worshiping the Stealer. The only thing that will ever change again is whether or not he'll be taken by a worse monster. Or if he'll just finally fuck up once too often.

There's a little bit of gentleness in Hanna's voice, which nearly breaks him. "On the edge of giving up, Elwin?" she says softly. "No, don't answer that."

So he doesn't. Drained like the can, he watches the red of her lips as she comes closer still. Closer.

Soon, as cold as his mind feels, his face heats to red as warmth literally pillows in around him.

In fact, now, he can't help but look anywhere but her breasts. Hanna used to be a few inches shorter than he is; now, he doesn't make it above nipple height. She used to be kind of average sized, with nothing else to say; about all that remains is the long, frizzy brown hair.

The woman who marches at him is a little over sixty centimeters taller than him. Two whole feet. Hanna played an investigator in their Pathfinder game; now, she wears an entirely revealing chainmail bikini and nothing else, not even shoes.

Maybe she always wanted Jack's bloodrager slot. That's not a good place for his mind to go. Maybe Hanna is the one who took Jack.

She's certainly big enough for the class. Not just tall, just short of Large size in the game rules, but _big_. He may be nearly three-quarters her height, but he's not even half her shoulder breadth. 

Six months of living on exactly the calorie diet that Hanna's Pride thinks he should have has already cut away a lot of the softness of his prior wilderness-casual lifestyle. Six months of carrying _twenty-five fucking kilos_ of equipment weight for most of his waking hours hasn't exactly turned him swole. But what _is_ swole, any more?

_She is. Oh, God, she is! Oh, dear God in Hea--_

"Shhh," Hanna says as he begins to choke and shake. Huge arms, laden with more hard swole-ness-- each-- than his whole body wrap around him.

At the same time, his face is plunged into the heat of her cleavage. Squishy, lightly tan flesh presses in all around him. She smells so good, his hardon jumps in his grey and white-splotched pants.

Even though he knows all the softness around him could turn harder than steel with just a little clench of the huge pecs, just a bit past his face.

His nostrils flare as her palms come around him possessively, fingers pressing just short of painfully tight against his skin. If she holds that up, he'll bruise-- but not for several minutes yet. He'll start suffocating on the exquisite scent of her sweat and heat long before them.

By comparison, the crush of whatever weird metal her chainmail bikini is made of into his chest is positively gentle. It still makes him hiss a bit with the scraping press of links into his skin. Usually, that'd be a mistake; and he can certainly smell her sweat and musk enough to know it excites her.

A slight growl from the woman who owns him and who literally could pop his head like a grape sends her titties bouncing rapidly against his head and his arms leap up without consulting his brain. Touching one of _them_ is always a gamble, even when you're being held, but that _particular_ growl usually is one of the signs she wants to be treated "affectionately." The giggle and mild musk of pleasure tell him she's amused by him jerking his head around in her rack, at least.

_I'm so terrified of her that the only reason I'm not crying is the fear of irritating her with the spill of tears onto her tits rather than being available for her tongue. I'm so horny my dick is trying to leap out straight through my pants, but she wants affectionate. Affectionate, she will get-- as best as I can._

Trembling, Elwin's chickenbone-thin arms finish wrapping around as much of her powerful midsection as he can. He can't quite reach at this distance; he feels ridiculous, trying to hold her. It's like trying to hold a warm concrete column while two warmer, slightly pliant heavy bags of concrete mix are being pressed around him. Maybe a _little_ more give, but if he lets himself sink low enough into that give, that means…

"Oh, Elwin," she purrs, and he thinks she's clicking her tongue at him. It's hard to hear her through her breasts; he's just lucky she's giving him enough room to breathe, even if his lungs are burning with her decadently sensual musk and her warm, heady sweat.

If she tightened her chest up, or even just shoved him further…

"Shhh," she hushes him; he must have started to shake in his enboobed prison. Her shushing is felt as much as heard, and he can't help gasping, precum beading at the tip of his achingly hard cock as her jiggly breasts wobble around him.

Death doesn't come for him; but a terrifying mercy does. "Put your hands on my ass," she growls.

"My hips, if you're starting to strain," Hanna sighs, bored with his terror. "I don't want to have to hold you in place."

"Yes, Mistress," he whimpers, and lets his toned, taut arms sink down into the luscious squish of her well-padded and better-curved hips. Frightened, his hands sink down from her waist and the top of her butt, towards the deeper part of the globular wonder in curves and fat.

Just a little, until she growls again.

"Elwin, put your damn hands on my ass and grip! I don't want to t-- I don't want to get mad at you right now, so please, just fucking pretend I can cast spells on you and you've got Greater Heroism on."

 _Immunity to fear._ Now tears fall; now, Elwin's hands do rub into that spectacular big booty over hers, not daring to massage like he was taught, just holding as far down and around across the wider circumference of her rump. Tears fall and precum messes his boxers more.

"Oh, fuck," Hanna sighs. Then the squeeze comes. Her pecs tightening up above; he's shrouded in shadow but there's only one reason all that beautiful titflesh would begin to squoosh inwards.

His head spins, colors flash in front of his eyes; he can't breathe! Choking and thrashing, he wildly flails around in her cleavage, unaware of anything but two things. First, he mustn't let go of her ass; he's been ordered.

And two, the end must come. _I don't think I really wanted to die, but at least I won't see people bitten in half any more!_ Being smothered by Hanna's breasts has any number of benefits.

Even if you don't count the fact that her huge knockers and demanding musk mean she doesn't even have to touch his cock to bring him to climax; he wouldn't. The Pride owns his clothing, too, after all. Therefore, being the horrible human that apparently makes him, he's dirtying their property enough with his precum.

But a really big benefit of being surrounded by the mentally invasive beauty that is a Hunter's rack-- Elwin hadn't been into the truly oversized chest thing before the Pulse-- is that he can't visualize almost anything else. He can barely verify by touch that he's still holding onto her ass; only her breasts, and the powerful muscles of her lower thigh that his groin is forced against.

That's it. No horrors. Not even the death that will surely come for him.

(Whether it's when he cums into his pants, or when she keeps him past the limits of his lungs and brains, or when she just decides to squeeze more.)

It's relaxing, honestly. And then her powerful arms wrap around Elwin's back; each more muscular than said back could ever be, and hold him in place. It's almost as much of a comfort as her terrible hands, supple and gentle to the point that he  _ should _ be weeping in fear already, rubbing their palms over his back.

Until the stiffness from his terror and shaking goes away. Until he can barely hold on to her butt. Until his balls are so tight with the urge to jizz that he's held on the very edge…

Elwin's last coherent thought before he's removed from the hellish paradise of Hanna's breasts is, _At least I'll die with pleasure…_ He's wrong, again.

That's not new; he learned pretty quickly that he's always wrong.

Elwin's smart enough still to let go of her juicy hindquarters when she starts to push him up by the ass, broad hand running underneath the cheeks, tensing and flinching. They're still sore from her "friendly greeting." Due to get sorer, it seems

He's reasonably average sized, for a man; in Hanna's arms, that makes him a little willow strip. Hard and soft surrounds him. She cradles him in, shifting him so he's not battered by her can-sized nips, stiff as they are, her other arm coming up to support his back.

She doesn't need to, she's proven she can keep Elwin vertical by flex or by order before. So why now? He's actually comfortable.

Well, except for the effect of the sudden rush of oxygen back to his brain. Arching his little back, he moans, his clothed cock grinding against her breast. Eyes going wide, he inhales to start whimpering apologies, but it's her softness that cuts him off, not hardness.

So to speak.

"Don't cum yet," Hanna says, so soft he's not sure he heard her over the ringing of his ears. It almost sounded like it should have a question mark.

But that can't be right. It doesn't matter. She hasn't entirely freed him from her breasts; she's just slid him around and back so her jugs are pressing over much of his torso but not completely around.

Elwin tries to stiffen; fails; tries to blink, manages that. Eventually, he also manages to reply, "Nnngh-- as you command, mistress! The Pride rules my ba--"

"Call me Hanna, baby," she coos softly, and he's glad that his hypoxia can be blamed for his slumping now. _It's going to be a bad day._

But all he does is nod, coughing, "Yes, Hanna. My nuts are yours to command."

Code-switching. Very important; when Hanna wants to be "affectionate" and "casual," he has to be informal. Right up until she's being the full mistress again and then it's his fault if he isn't rigorously perfect in-place.

She twists her lip into a half grin, and actually looks _worried_ as her dark eyes search his face. "That's… better?" she asks, mumbling to herself.

She scooches around the arm holding him, biceps swelling, and pushing the peak against his back. Not unpleasantly. Honestly, with the extra definition and striation, plus the tertiary muscles, there's some pretty good back support.

Elwin would cry now, if he could. He's so drained he doesn't care if he gets smacked for being lippy. "Hanna, please…"

"You're frightening me. I don't know what you w-w-w-want. I've _tried_ to be a good little…"

He swallows. His back tightens up-- briefly, before Hanna effortlessly massages it back to a near-slump by a light flex of her biceps' upper head alone. So he hangs his head, as she desires.

Biting his lower lip, he stares at her deep, devouring eyes and whispers, "I've tried to be a good l… a good little p-piggie." It's not just that it's humiliating. It's that the Pride-- _especially_ Yvette-- have expectations about _what_ he pigs out on.

Pussy, well, yes; their sexes are gorgeous, their fluids taste so divine as to be addictive. But that puts him between their thighs… It's so dangerous to be there, with only the somewhat nebulous promise of his position.

Their muscles, that's when the danger starts to get bad. When Yvette starts flexing, and snarls at him to "pump up, little piggie," and he can't possibly equal her… he's punished by her _favorite-_ favorite. And April's, and Kelly's.

Not that Hanna or Shawna skimp on "letting" him pig out in eating their assholes out. Drilling his tongue in deep. About the only thing he can say is at least there's only so much nausea before his breath starts to go; they're always clean, like any part of a Hunter body.

But mostly, being a good little piggie means being and doing what the Pride wants, and the Pride always wants his pain and humiliation.

But what else does he have to offer Hanna, to get her to stop hurting his head like this?

Nothing. She rocks him around in her arms again, and pushes the front of his nose up like a pig's snout. "Oink oink," he says, numbly-- again.

It doesn't satisfy. _Oh, no. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

Hanna's actually saddened by his oinking. That means it's going to be a _very_ bad day. One he will almost certainly survive.

Because it will hurt more.

He checks, trembling-- and yes, he thinks he can see a desperation to end this. To stop this mad super-fetish scene and pull back. To reveal it was all some giant, enchanted roleplaying game from the FMG portion of the 'net, and then whichever one of the guys pissed off a witch is alive but humbled and the rest of them…

"Stop, piggie," Hanna commands slowly. "And no, that's not a Mistress me,' order, either."

Elwin bows his head.

Hanna purses her lips, and hoists him so he's lying across more of her tit. Since she's still in a "Hanna" mood, he squirms a bit, embarrassed of his pre-dripping hard-on, but hugs against her bust. She rewards him, flexing up lightly.

When the ripples and ridges and grooves and bulges pump out all over her broad body, he can lose a little more fear and a little more sense of self. Ego, not in the macho sense, but in the acknowledgement of self, starts to die away. His brain is owned by her muscles.

Even if Hanna won't flex enough to _really_ put him under. Not yet. Instead, she strokes her free hand up and down his back.

"Oh, Elwin," she says again, her voice catching. If it wasn't for the fact that he's blissfully having his eyes track and be trapped by the muscle-form of her shoulders and neck, he'd probably panic again.

Now _she's_ near crying. But he's caught, and so he can rest on the numbness. His musclebound owner continues to stroke his back, ruthlessly manipulating it to stop any source of tension in his muscles other than his hug.

She's also playing with his spinal cord again. She broke it once. Over her shoulders.

Ever since, when a mistress toys with his back like this, it's usually raw agony.

This time, he just feels warmth spreading throughout his back, like there's a warm blanket over him. Like he's actually safe in her arms. It's a nice lie.

"I never told you why I put you out here, did I, my poor, pretty little Elwin?" Hanna asks, her head turning slightly away. She's got him in a pleasant enough fugue that he doesn't jolt when she calls him pretty.

She's _never_ called him pretty. _Kelly_ called him a pretty little oinker when she first used a strapon on him. She likes doing that; she and Shawna do so enjoy reminding him first that every part of his body is theirs to use.

And then-- when Elwin is worn out from what they do to his hips, his ass, and his prostate-- ride him cowgirl style and "envelop" him, teaching him that penetration isn't dominance. They like teaching him things.

Kelly likes encouraging lifelong learning.

But Yvette and April spit on him hard enough to bruise flesh and jangle bone, calling him "no better than any other piece of tier-5 tail walking the streets, plain little slut." To be honest, it's less exhausting.

Hanna's never commented on his attractiveness. His weakness, his many foibles, real and imagined, that sort of thing, sure. But she's always been silent on whether or not he's pretty enough.

Elwin knows he isn't, but it spreads a different kind of warmth out from his cheeks and down his neck when she says so. He can't panic at the strangeness; he hasn't the strength. Instead, he falls back into old favorites.

Wriggling his arms around a bit to get a slightly less stuck hold on her breast, he sets some of the denseness squeezing out around him. "Thank you for the compliment, Hanna." Then he remembers _fast_ that she asked him a question.

Answering is good for his health. Answering fast is better, but answering _right_ is best of all. "You, ah, said because I was a boy _scout_ , I should be scouting?"

Grunting, not quite frowning Hanna furrows enough of her brow that he clings tighter to her breast and hopes it will count as wordless begging and not impudence. She taps his rump; tight and toned as it is for a man, it's soft and pliant to her. He whines, and she winces again.

"Sor--" she stops and shakes her head, cutting off the--

He doesn't dare believe that it _could_ be an apology. If he did, he'd start vomiting. She usually starts apologizing first, _then_ cries as she breaks his limbs.

Instead, grinding her teeth together, her hawsered neck slowly tensing up and traps bulging, Hanna forces herself to smile at him.

"Oh, shit," she sighs. "This is all wrong, Elwin."

 _What? Smile-- what?_ Elwin simply has no lens to understand any of this.

Shocked, he just listens. "My Elwin… Would you be? If I told you why I _really_ put you here?"

"Why I beat you for the typos?" Of all terrifying things, she closes her eyes, and tears form around the edges. "Why I keep you in this horrible place?"

He swallows. "I belong to you, Hanna. I'm Pride property, every bit as much as if we were in deeper Candyland."

Hanna's huge body shakes and bulges-- and hardens. Even as her delts flare and her eyes widen with disappointed ire, a flex travels inwards to her huge pectoral muscles, each one bigger than his chest entire. Her already voluminous breasts grind back at him, no longer just _denser_ than he, but far harder. And her harsh, hard arms, horror-movie giant pythons and all, pump out in vibrating beats.

He's made her angry. Maybe that means he'll die today, after all. But Elwin wouldn't bet on that.

He'd lay it all on "more pain than he's thought possible to date."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Submission is the only move that, so far as Elwin knows, has any chance, and only so much, has any chance of placating his owners-- or any Hunters. The chill horror of another visit to Dr. In-Site's "minion reconstruction" labs-- again-- crawls up his spine.
> 
> And yet...
> 
> As bad as new is, submission... seems to actually work. Oh, they've made him enjoy being dominated, they're good at that. But even as he lives in terror of violating the rules, new and old, Hanna is changing the game itself.
> 
> A privilege that is almost never granted-- questioning his owner's request-- is extended. It even gives him insight into the hidden and unbreakable rules he's missed. And perhaps most of all, he was half-right.
> 
> Inside the monster who calls herself Hanna Davis is the woman who was his friend. And she has known she was drawn far too tightly to her past for comfort. She knew she couldn't hold him-- only harm him. So she did the only thing she could do instead.
> 
> Hurt him, until they were both ready to be held. There were only two levers she had; Mistress Lita to control her.
> 
> And the Deadzones to protect Elwin from the worst she could do. But now...

Elwin doesn't know why submission isn't working with the desires and inquiries of Hanna Davis, the one woman among his owners he knew before the Pulse. He's not surprised-- in so much that he has any emotion other than agonized terror-- because it's not exactly uncommon when there  _ is _ nothing that can be done to satiate a mistress.

Submission is the only thing, the  _ only _ thing that works at all. Especially for a man, and even then it is  _ not _ guaranteed. Somewhere out there, there may be a Hunter who likes her bitches spunky... but that won't apply to men, he's sure.

Nothing else would make sense to him.

But right now, he'd at least settled into a pattern with Hanna, or so he thought. Be obedient, and only generally have his bones broken  _ after _ they have sex. Rather than forcing him to pleasure her with an untreated broken arm until he passes out-- and then seeing how many times he can be pushed to wake before it's time to haul him off to get patched up by Doctor In-Site.

Using a former supervillain mad biotechnology scientist to do slave repair makes quite a bit of sense. He's always had a suspiciously high minion survival (and mutation) rate, so he has experience. And since he's kept in the Kennels, no one believes he's going to cross Moto-Lita on the "no mutations" commandment.

It looks like Elwin's heading that way now. Whatever it was that set her off, he doesn't know. He's more or less exactly quoting what he was told to say to a mistress asking if he'd be hers.

_ It was the lippyness, _ his brain tells him, using the whispering voice that sounds like every member of the Pride groaning orgasmically in his ear.  _ I deserved it for the sigh, and the hesitation, and daring to tell her what she already knew. _

So now his comfortable position between the massaging hardness of her heavily muscled arms and the dense lushness of her thick jugs has become a tormenting vice. A grimace of frustration whips him from her face, at the same time her powerful muscles surge, drawing the skin so tight around them it vibrates. Like they were holding something much more nasty than one Elwin Yeung in check.

Whatever it is, it's making Hanna's powerful frame expand. It started with her neck again, passing out to her shoulders. Then the powerful arms wrapped around him begin to swell outwards, the lines of definition growing tighter across them.

Beating his body in their wake. He cries out, feeling his back first begin to bruise, then to be compacted against his spine. Frustration turns to anger on her beautiful, strong face, high cheekbones surrounded by flares of anger as much as arousal.

Elwin goes limp. Why would he try to fight it?  _ Ah. It comes. _

_ I don't kn-- _

The usual rush of pheromonal, intoxicating scent follows; her pupils dilating even as the agonizing pain flows over him, limp or no. His body responds with even more, ah,  _ stiffening _ panic. But before he can bemoan his lack of understanding, she jolts out of her sadistic rush.

Tears flow down his cheeks freely now, and though he can't seem to develop the strength to really quake in his fear; he just flops over her once-more squishy melons. "I'm sorry, m- Ha- I… I…"

_ New is bad new is bad new is bad... _

Hanna's eyes flick back and forth, her frizzy hair shifting as she tilts her head this way and that, not necessarily following her eyes' motion too exactly. It's not a reassuring sight; not with her mouth pressed into a tight grimace and her eyes looking like she wants to scream for help. Like some part of her is begging him to stop this. But all  _ he _ can do is surrender.

So he does.

Exhaling slowly, Elwin forces his soft, drained body to push off against her terrible, swole beyond swole arms by his upper thighs and butt. Her head immediately jerks into his direction; he almost gives up. He almost  _ throws _ up too.

But Hanna doesn't do anything other than stare at him, face unreadable.

So he moves himself closer, until the top of his head rests against the rugged, rough-hewn ridges of her nearest pectoral, and closes his eyes; if she's going to kill him for this, he doesn't want to see her face.

"I'm sorry I'm so frustrating, Mistress Hanna," Elwin says quietly. "Thank you for your patience."

Then he waits. For a considerable time. But just when he's about to wince and go with cringing, Hanna pulls him even closer, and kisses him possessively on the lips.

The taste is electric, and Elwin's body reacts to it. He's been kissed many times, like the possession he is. Her tongue presses into his mouth, huge and wet and strong.

He sucks on it instantly, hesitantly worshiping her tongue with his. Invasion, just like how he'll be remembering how she looked in his kitchen for months-- he still remembers each time she hurt him.

Every time she was just in passing while one of her wives "disciplined" or "trained" him. His back twinges, and he even more desperately sucks on her thick tongue. He'd like to tell himself it's because he knows how to keep her satisfied.

The truth is, nothing keeps Hanna or any other Hunter satisfied; he's sucking because she's made him enjoy being invaded.

His dick, so hard it hurts, rubs up against her nipple. The latter isn't longer, but is definitely thicker, and certainly much harder. Hanna shifts him slightly and the length of his slightly curved dick is rubbed up against her nub.  _ Guess I'm going to be messing the pants they gave me bad enough after all. _

Elwin only briefly wonders if Warqueen Lita's rules mean he'll be replaced with an effective, or given a wheelchair because Hanna gives him something new to fear. Hope. Hope has been his enemy for a long time.

Because Hanna's tongue, while forceful, doesn't even bleed his tongue on his teeth. No more pain than a tight squeeze. She even shifts him so that his prick is no longer sacrificing Sex- and Sadism-Drive preparation to her heavy breast.

Her fingers run over his ass and thighs, caressing him delicately, as though she meant to treat him like the micron-thick spun glass he is to her. Then she pulls back from the kiss, and pecks him lightly on the lips.

"You really don't know-- you used to be so bright, Elwin," she mutters. "No, don't answer that, either," she tells him as she carefully sets him on his feet.

She doesn't stop him when he staggers back, staring up at her in awe. Inhaling slowly through his mouth, his body wobbles but does not fall, though he can barely stand himself. She nods towards the cabinets behind him, and her meaning is crystal clear.

Elwin finds himself caught between the utter grey where even death is no terror any longer, and the shrouding shadows of the mind. Where every movement, every sound is a threat. But he's been given an order, and that lets him stagger back, the thin sliver of him that cares for his own suffering grateful for the support.

Drawing herself up, Hanna flips her hair lightly, settling the massive frizz into place as easily as though she'd run her fingers through it for hours. He can quite clearly see how hard her nipples are. For one thing, even if the mail wasn't knit into pointlessly broad circles, clearly showing the dark pink flesh beneath…

They're so hard and erect that they've dragged the slight, upward-pointed triangles forward enough that much of her areolae are visible.

  
The motion sets her hawser-corded neck to bulging; a ripple which passes out and over the broad shelf of her shoulders. From there, it spreads to the miniature boulders of her bare delts, making the upper strap of the bikini pull even more taut. She raises goliath arms that would have made Superman think twice about arm-wrestling her, even if she was a complete unknown.

"I know you're scared, Elwin; it's very tasty," Hanna says as the renewed expansion of her muscles shifts and plays. It surges all around, the long, thick undulations of her triceps pulsing dangerously.

As her fingers  _ do _ reach into her hair, toying it around, her forearms and her biceps bulge back towards each other. "I want you to answer me  _ exactly _ honestly. First-- do you understand what I'm ordering you to do?"

"Only partially, M--" he starts, but she immediately cuts him off with a shake of her head.  _ New new new new... _

" _ Just _ Hanna. And as for how  _ much _ I want you to answer?" There's an actual twitch on her otherwise flawless face.

Then she sighs. Looking down at him, eyes cold, she makes her needs remarkably clear. "I don't want to hear paragraphs unless it's reasonably complicated, but don't skid off with the minimum possible."

Shocked, he says nothing at first. Hanna's smile is tight. The twitch spreads.

"I'm on the edge as it is, Elwin," she tells him with a softness that does all sorts of things to increase how hard his shaft has gotten-- and how hard he's frozen in place. "Please try to thread the needle."

Somehow, he manages to nod through whatever icy chill has him locked up tighter than a deer coated in water, dumped in the Arctic and having headlights more massive than Hanna's shined on him.

"Yes, Hanna," he ulps. "I understand better now, Hanna."

Seeing a mistress pensive is not any less a terror than seeing one feeling generous, but Elwin manages to hold himself from sliding to his knees. She continues to run her hands through her big, brown frizz of hair, and her tongue keeps stroking over her lips every few words. "I am going to repeat the question  _ exactly _ once."

He nods slowly, his head feeling light and spinny. Watching the power and curves of her limbs in idle elegance is leaving him feeling pulled back and away from his body, but her brown eyes fix on him. "If I helped you understand your life, Elwin, would you be  _ my Elwin _ ?"

Perhaps it's the clarity of fear, or some element of the trance; perhaps she's doing something to him, some active use of her invasive beauty. But he feels like he understands. She's asking him to re-swear his oaths to serve her more directly.

His head throbs with intrusive certainty as his eyes try and fail to flick back and forth, held by her gaze. As his tongue licks over his lips and he inhales to speak, he  _ knows _ , somehow, that she means both in the manner of a Bower Boy-- a more frequent fucktoy-- but not just locked away, to be slowly ground into a nameless, lifeless flesh-robot, just the same as any other Bower Boy.

He winces, and bows his head. "May-- may I ask questions, Hanna?  _ Please _ ?"

Hanna's arms suddenly flex. The same enraged tightening that hurt him so badly he's still feeling the throb. But he doesn't fall into a blind, sobbing panic, because whatever foreign thoughts provide certainty thrust into his mind again.

She's not preparing to hit him-- not all of her, anyway. At least as much or more of her is holding herself  _ back _ from punishing Elwin. Hope, terrible hope, rises in him.

"I can't guarantee that they won't end with you hauled off to In-Site's," she replies thickly. "But go ahead."

Wincing, Elwin rubs at some of the pain in the small of his back, making her inhale and exhale in quick puffs, her pupils dilating again. "Why is this a question, and not an order, Hanna? You say you want me separate from the Pride, so I guess they've already said yes."

He starts to go on, pauses, and looks at Hanna. Her hands are clasped together behind her long, wild hair, sticking out to either side. They squeeze, showing off another intense wave of muscular majesty across her triceps at him, but the alien certainty continues to force him from the more familiar panic of being lost in her definition.

But she nods, so he goes on.

Not particularly well, but…

"If you explain… if you don't…" He sighs. "You can j--"

Icy calm, the tall tan woman says, "Please don't  _ ever _ imply that I or my Pride wouldn't keep our words again, Elwin. In fact, consider this a full order."

"Never imply that  _ any _ Hunter would break her word." Her words are as serious as death, and they brand into Elwin Yeung's brain. "Even by implication."

Hanna turns her head to her left, frizzy bangs bouncing at him. "Go on."

_ I don't have many of those chances left, _ Elwin realizes, and holds her words to his heart, too. He's not stupid enough to think that the "unless you betray us or sufficiently offend us" clause can't be activated at a moment's notice.

But in some ways, it's an answer to his unspoken question. His choice matters because Hanna wants it to matter. Which does make him feel stupider than normal; it's the only reason  _ anything _ matters, after all.

Elwin thinks fast, well aware that in Hanna's company that's a little bit like a snail trying to fly in the company of pteranodon-- or a dragon. "I think that's the answer, then, Hanna," he answers, abruptly too tired to even fear the consequences of honesty.

She tilts her head and frowns, but he's still too numb inside to do anything but explain. "If my choice matters at all, it will only be a yes if I understand."  _ At least, a yes that means yes, and not just, "Please don't hurt me." _

The force of her glare cuts his last strings. His tendons no longer feel like they can hold him and he begins to fall forward. The only part of his body that thinks it knows how to get to safety is his knees.

But Elwin is not permitted such safety.

Before he can plummet, Hanna is beside him, the air stirring in her wake. There's a wry look on her face as she holds him up with a single finger to his sternum; it hardly stings at all. "Oh,  _ Elwin, _ " she says with exasperation.

"This-- this is why I had to send you away." She huffs, looking him up and down "You're just too good of a victim."

"Thank you?" he whispers, trembling, his lithe body wriggling like a pinned butterfly. Knowing better than to try to escape, he tries to contain the squirms but he just doesn't have the strength any more.

"You're welcome," Hanna says with another fond smile, and runs her fingers through his hair, shaping it back to the part he'd had when they first met. "Always thought this looked better on you, even if you weren't my type," she mutters.

Before Elwin can reply, she taps his sternum again. This time it hurts more, but he jerks upright again, eyes returning to nipple level. That's not what she wants…

But apparently, she's not willing to brand her lesson into him yet.

"Stay straight," she warns him. "Look into my eyes. You're safe when you look at my eyes."

Elwin can't even nod. The darker brown of her irises holds him in check, so he swallows and just says, "Yes, Hanna. Thank you, Hanna."

Free of holding him up, her left hand comes up to run through his hair. "So, yes," she says softly. "You  _ were _ my friend."

"I know what all those stares meant, you know. We all did. That's why April, Kelly, and Shawna get so  _ grouchy  _ with you."

An involuntary clench squeezes from his ass up, the gluteal muscles running scared into the embrace of the small of his back.

Her lips purse, but a thin smile walks across it. "Oh, don't worry," she sniffs. "That's not really my usual thing; I like nipple fucks you and crushing cock, as you well know."

Given how hard his cock throbs-- and how hard the memory of their last run-in aches along with the throb-- he swallows and whispers, "Yes, Hanna."

Still dragging her oversized melons across him, Hanna kisses him on the forehead. "I knew I couldn't, anyway. Kelly's the only one of us with the self-control not to just batter you to pieces when you're wriggling around like that, our pretty little stuck piggie."

Elwin's eyes go wide and Hanna nods cheerfully, frizzy hair bouncing as though she wasn't discussing raping him to death again. "Yep; but the point is… I had the least self-control of all of us, with you."

She inhales deeply. Abruptly, his peripheral vision tells him such stories of her huge breasts jiggling and wobbling about that his jaw slacks a bit. Even the power of her gaze is insufficient to completely shield him from the enticement of her tits.

The shy smile she gives him is almost unfair, especially since he can hear the jingling rustle of her chainmail thong; can imagine her strong fingers running over her beautiful pussy. He doesn't have to imagine how wet she is at the thought of his wriggles-- whether over Kelly's toy, or beneath her as she clenched her cunny down.

The scent of her arousal and her pussyjuices is so thick Elwin has to make a pleasured groan. His body aches for her, more than his cock stiff at her promises. His fear is only peripheral now, tired as it is.

"Oh, good," Hanna purrs. "You'll be ready when I give the order."

That makes him go limp again.

Hanna waves a hand. "Don't tell me you didn't like it, Elwin; I heard you scream my name. I felt your weak little seed splatter inside me, the best you can, or could."

Elwin's head is dizzy; struggling with his mistress' approval and a deep desire not to experience anything  _ nearly _ as violently painful as the way she came on him the first time she rode him. Not that he didn't cum, too; it was if anything somehow harder than when Kelly practically turned his prostate into a condom along with the rest of him. But when she screamed in triumph, and her tunnel's muscles clenched.

There's only one answer that's safe, of course. "Yes, Hanna." He doesn't thank her this time; he suspects she'd be very displeased if he gave even the correct ritual answer.

She strokes his cheek. "Don't worry, pretty, pretty piggie," she says, her smile tender as her eyes are crazed. "That's why the offer at all."

Her other hand comes up. Her long thumbs gently push his nose upwards, but just briefly, then move up to stroke his eyes. The newness of it all threatens to wring tears from him.

But Elwin is fresh out of tears at the moment.

"I want you inside  _ me _ ," Hanna growls. "So much, so much…"

Her grip trembles; by the way her forearms are starting to bulk out, all it would take is a simple slip to crush his head like a grape. But he trusts her; she said she wouldn't kill him. He waits for the explanation to continue.

Hanna strokes his cheeks again, but the powerfully built spirals of hawser-like muscles extending from the elbow to the wrist continue to bulge. "So… I couldn't control myself well enough  _ before _ , but Mistress Lita has taught me about contro… con… cont…  _ control! _ " 

The anger doesn't melt from Hanna's eyes, but it might be said to soften, a little, as she climaxes from the mere memory of the terrible and vastly beautiful Warqueen. Elwin's never had her attentions; he's seen her online on the newscasts from the Kennels, masturbated the required amount (and more-- like he had a choice) at her favorite videos.

He never  _ wants _ to be that close to such a powerful woman; he can barely survive the ones who own him.

_ Or, the one? How would that work? _ However she reads his mind-- psychic ability, body language, subvocalizations-- Hanna seems to see the thought clear enough, and sniffs.

"You're not worthy of the Warqueen," she huffs. "No, don't tell me how you're not worthy of me. Your worth is irrelevant."

Elwin swallows again. "Yes, Hanna." It continues to please her; the glare of anger shifts to the brightness of cheer.

_ Some _ of the flexion on those powerful forearms reduces, at least. Of course, she'd hardly need those, to crush his head. He knows that, too.

"I sent you away to protect you from me, and from other bitches not my Pride-- and from my Pride's attentions, too, honestly," Hanna says, squirming her shapely, super-developed shoulders.

"You  _ were _ my friend, Elwin. You're just a pet now-- at best. But I knew I'd kill you; I don't know if my promises would have held how much you twist in my memory."

Hanna groans, pushing herself up with her toes a bit, "Squirm, squirm, squirm goes the piggie, then…" She shrugs.

"Then I don't have my other favorite piggie. Yvette had to take Lawrence away from me before it was too late. No, I've never known what happened to Jack, and you  _ know _ what happened to Terry."

Thinking about  _ that _ makes Elwin shudder; the power of her gaze or not. "We made them pay," she hisses. "Oh yes, we did."

Long bangs bouncing again, she tilts her head to the left again. Eyes wide and hungry, she licks her lips. A little smile follows in her tongue's wake.

"They'd never dare do that if you were mine," she growls. "And even if they would…"

She shrugs, and waves in the direction of the Deadzone, muttering, "Wish they'd head in and get it over with, the buzzing  _ hurts _ …" Hanna pouts at him, like he could send the Stealer deeper into the Deadzone if he just tried harder.

_ It's not wise to disa… _

Shaking her head, Hanna distracts him with another kiss; no tongue, but lips to lips long enough for him to melt further into the cup of her palms. She's just so much bigger than him-- so much more powerful. He's going to give her what she wants; why wait?

Among other things, because she wants to finish explaining. From snarling predator to distressed friend to horny mistress, and now back to enthusiastic friend. All in a matter of moments.

The most typical part of the night, honestly.

"We don't look too close to the Deadzone. That's why you're here. Mistress Lita doesn't want us damaging our sensoria or sanity against the wall."

"Oh," Elwin says, his jaw not quite dropping-- not with how she's holding his face-- but close.  _ I thought… _ He almost expects Hanna to answer the thought.

She doesn't; she just keeps grinding on over his exclamation. "I would have broken you," she tells him.

"And if Mistress Lita beats the shit out of some bitch for killing you or breaking you, then I still don't have my pretty little toy, do I?"

Smiling wildly, Hanna strokes one hand down over his thin little chest, trailing her fingertips over his shirt. It feels like he's naked, like her nails are stroking so lightly over bare flesh that they stimulate without the long red marks of pain that usually follow a Hunter's caresses. Blushing brightly, he turns his face further into her hands and gasps, "Ahhh!"

That seems to make her nod cheerfully. "That's why I put my pretty little pussy piggie out here," she says with a little laugh, kissing his forehead.

Elwin stares up at her. "Mistress Lita's rules protect you where, well..." She shrugs, and runs a hand over his belly with another laugh.

His face burns again. He sees the mistresses so rarely that sometimes, he gets proud of what being out here has done to a body already decently fit, and exquisitely so for an IT worker. Being out here with orders to exercise on pain of death-- or perhaps suffering so much he'd wish for death-- helps.

But he doesn't even have all six of his abs clearly defined; the crease between the second row and the third is getting there, but overall, he looks like he has a four instead of a six. Not that even if he was built like a Kryptonian on whatever it is that Bane dude uses, it would matter. Hanna isn't  _ big _ league news among Hunters… but she's nothing like that weak.

He doesn't have time to even murmur some platitude in the key of "Hanna substitutes for Mistress in this sentence." She curls the fingers that had been teasing his stomach down to his hip and rubs far more suggestively over the flat lines of it.

His body might as well be paper to her, most of the time; wet paper. Now it's clay. The warm lines of wonderful, sweeping strokes contrast to the jab of her thumb against the upper region of his hip that makes his eyes water.

Hanna kisses away his tears. "There. Now you won't mess up the jeans until we decide whether or not they're yours again."

_ I could have clothes again? _ Elwin doesn't ask. She'll know if he asks, but he also knows she wants it to be about her.

So, despite the frown, he squares his shoulders. Despite her amused little snort at that bit of attempted hardness, even with himself… He slows his ragged gasps down to shallow pants.

"So-- I'll be your Bower Boy, just not at the h-h-home?" Elwin hates the stutter. Less for its ridiculousness, and more for how it makes her wet her lips, her tongue slashing sharply over a far more hungry smile.

But he can't help it. "The home" is where he was kept for the first week, until Moto-Lita took charge. It's where Hanna and her wives "almost" broke him.

He'll never forget. He can't. Especially not when the shame and the horniness get to be too much and he can't help but masturbate.

"That's the offer," Hanna says. "I can't take you from the post except by your choice."

At his blank stare, she shrugs. "You'd have disappointed me. But not so much Mistress Lita would let me re-allocate resources to train a replacement, not for a while, anyway."

Elwin's jaw drops. "The m-m-m-m-m-m-m…" He trails off into stutters, and paroxysms of fear missed with near-orgasmic bliss.

He's only seen her videos. But that's enough to get his mind looping. Just thinking the Warqueen has her attention on him at all...

Hanna pouts at him, but smiles. "That's why I  _ trained _ you very hard for your typos, Elwin; the reports are all sent on. If she had come to train you, she'd have seen how pretty you are, and taken you from me!"

Glaring to the side, she begins to mutter, "And she already has so ma…" when she winces and whines a bit.

Her shuddering shakes him, and he tries to remind himself there is no true place of equality, no true connection between himself and the gorgeous woman towering over him, fondling him.  _ But isn't there? She still remembers we were friends; she's not offering to be my friend again, but she's offering… what? _

Hanna reads his confusion like it was spoken. "I will make you my own. My wives will still own you, and use you, but they'll ask me before hurting you too much or harming you at all, and I  _ promise _ , Elwin, I'll set high standards for that."

She shrugs. "I did with Lawrence, when Yvette gave him back to me for my birthday last month! I got your card, thank you!"

His "card" had been a picture of himself in a fairly compromising position with a vibrator and, for some reason, a miniature of a purple worm. It had been on her so-called wish list and no one had taken it yet; he'd been pretty sure it had been meant for him because he  _ had _ the mini. It had been amongst the trunk of what used to be his things the Pride had dropped off at the "blind."

"You're welcome, Hanna," Elwin mumbles, then moans again as she teases just her finger back over his asscheek, toying with the soft fat on top and the more toned muscle beneath as though both were just a jiggly, squishy mass.

And yet-- and yet, the way she rubs, stinging as it is, seems to be massaging the pain of her "enthusiastic" greeting away.

Nodding eagerly, Hanna leans her head over his. The sweet smell of her hair is intoxicating, but true to her word, whatever she did leaves him hard, but not cumming, not yet. Just groaning and squirming as she sniffs his neck.

Apparently, she likes what she found; she licks slowly along his comparatively scrawny throat, and teases at his ear with her tongue. "I'd use my promises and Mistress Lita's commands to keep you safe, my pussy piggie," she moans.

"As long as you're a good little scout, no typos, no slacking, I'd fuck you almost  _ every  _ night… but I'd have to leave you here." She gives a frown of distance that makes his stomach twist ahead of her words. "You'd never become as chewed up as even Lawrence got."

Elwin can hardly even wonder why he doesn't seem to feel horror or sympathy for Lawrence. The dead part of him isn't entirely swallowed by Hanna's aggressive sensuality, and it takes its toll. Indeed, keeping up with her half-restrained use of him is leeching his will out even faster.

He just quakes and squirms his ass back against her toying finger, moved on to his other buttock to grind the damage from before away. His neck twitches and his ear seems to be so sensitized it sends a bolt down his spine every half-second of her licking. Still, his hesitant move to hug into her left breast has paid off with happy little growls, not further pain, so it's all a kind of comfort.

"I know the Deadzone eats at you, Elwin," Hanna says softly. "You've lasted longer than most men stationed out here, but you're very close to taking my pretty piggie away and not coming back, aren't you? Don't answer that."

So Elwin doesn't. He just whimpers. What else can he do?

The immensely muscled body of his mistress and would-be… special mistress?... is all over him, like being hammered up against a wall by a very plush sofa whose frame was made of ancient oak. Hanna's strength vanishes him, makes him feel almost as tiny as the Deadzone does.

Except.

_ They have always kept their promises. She has always kept her promises. _ _ So… Time for a risk. _

Taking risks is the last thing anyone not a Hunter has done since the Pulse; and Hunters only risk in conflicts with each other and Stealers. Except. Except she's risking refusal, from a human.

Elwin looks up at her, blinking away tears and shudders. "Hanna, you terrify me," he says softly. "Help me, please?"

It might be the right risk.

Hanna's strong hand slips underneath his ass, but she's already soothed the pain away. "Don't say yes yet, then," she tells him softly as she scoops him up onto her arm, holding him close to her chest's squishy smoothness.

Her other hand reaches down to scoop his right hand up, drawing it across to her left bicep. He trembles; he's been forced to "squeeze" against it with both hands, or both arms, until she busted through; or to be a weight on chains held across it until the chains broke or he was ground up against her triceps. All her wives do it; for all he knows, it's a Hunter trademark.

But all she does is tilt her head towards him, half-smile, and flex slowly. Carefully. A rising peak pushes his hand up without catching or bruising it. Power that could crush his hand-- could crush  _ him _ \-- to powder reaches egg-cracking tautness, warm and intricately chiseled.

Without hurting him at all.

"You need to feel the strength you  _ can't _ see, I think," Hanna says softly as she holds the powerful flex. "I promise you, Elwin. I'm going to fuck you, and while it's going to hurt, I will  _ not _ harm you-- I won't  _ damage _ you permanently as long as you even make an effort to do what you're told."

Then she kisses Elwin's forehead, gentle and sweet while the dense pressure of her enormous breasts closes in around him far more forcefully. "You can even ask when we're starting," she purrs, "But-- Elwin?"

"Yes, Hanna?" he says, and rests himself submissively along her chest, eyes still glued to the colossal bicep every much as his trembling fingers upon the very top. His short hair rubs up against the tough, sculpted ridge of her near pectoral muscle. Usually, that'd be like nuzzling granite.

Warm granite, but granite.

Today, now, surrendering his fear and pride to Hanna, there's just enough give for him to feel comfortable with the incredible strength within. She relaxes the flex, and strokes through his short, dark hair, lightly rubbing his scalp. "If you ask questions  _ when _ I'm fucking you, it will go hard for you  _ and _ your dick."

Elwin swallows heavily. "Yes, Hanna." It's a generous offer.

For a man of the changed Earth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, the relationship between Hanna Davis, Hunter, and Elwin Yeung, prey, has changed dramatically. No longer abusing his every moment, she has become affectionate-- playful, even, though it is always wise to remember that Hunters are playful like felines. Of course, it's because she wants something.
> 
> His choice. His choice to become hers. Not free of influence, but the final step requires a degree of consent that has had Hanna terrified for one of her last links to the positive parts of her old life. So she's decided to show him exactly what he's in for.
> 
> From pushing her way in past doors, showing off her sheer, gigantic might and gigantic jugs alike, to treating him like the sweetest of dishes-- even to one of the most precious things a Hunter can gift her prey.
> 
> A chance to win. A chance to win on her terms, of course, and the prize is deeper, more personal dominance. But it will be a loving one, rather than the half-enraged, half-longing of her wilder days. And after all, Elwin is a man in the time of Hunters.
> 
> What better could he hope for than to serve and be promised that service be rewarded, rewarding, and give far more freedom than simply being banished from her Pride's den?

The trip to the bedroom is accomplished quickly enough; Hanna simply doesn't bother to set him down until they get to the door. He's only three-quarters her height, but the sheer extra mass of her brawny shoulder-breadth and the depth of her tapered-barrel chest is such that it's not  _ too _ ridiculous being held up this way. Especially when the extra forward mass is considered.

At the door, she giggles quietly and slaps Elwin on the butt; barely hard enough to sting, and giggles more when he yelps.

"You go in first, sweetie," she commands, and licks her lips good and slow. "I want you to watch this."

He blinks, dazed lightly, but suspects this isn't the time to start asking questions again. He turns to the door and turns the knob, stopping when Hanna clears her throat, and there's a metallic jingle behind. Turning slowly, he swallows hard when he sees her chain mail top dangling in front of him.

Set free like this, Hanna's mammoth breasts defy all but the jiggliest of gravity, parting just a bit in the center to show an extra swath of her cushion-sized pectoral muscles. But even their intricate definition can hardly hold his gaze when the majestic, curved expanses of breastflesh are wobbling like that. His jaw drops, and yes, again, she giggles.

Then she raises her left eyebrow and inclines her head to him again, shaking out her chainmail bikini for him one more time. He reaches up gingerly to take it with both hands; a wise choice, as it turns out. "Whoops!" she laughs as the weight of it nearly drags him to the floor.

"Just take your time," Hanna purrs as he starts to sweat and grunt, hauling what feels like a hundred pounds of absurdly heavy metal. He's not sure how it doesn't tear through his hands; probably some weird, hypertech variation on the way  _ she _ was able to hold up the top of his building when she came to take him.

Either way, Elwin lugs it into the room, breathing heavily. His slender chest heaves, and he groans, "Where… do you want me… to put it, Hanna?"

She waves her massive hand flippantly towards the bedroom floor. "Just drape it as artistically disheveled as you can on the floor out of my way. Don't just let it pool up."

_ Let, right. _ He suspects that no matter what indulgence Hanna has in mind for him right now, aiming sarcasm at her is not on the list. So he puts extra effort into it, tiny muscles hauling into their version of tight as he pulls it out as flat as he can manage.

"Mmm," Hanna purrs. "You know, as silly as you guys look when you try to be strong for the  _ lightest  _ things, it's really hot."

He jerks almost straight, but that gets her purring.

"Especially the way your ass clenched up there." Hanna growls. "On the bed with you-- pants  _ down. _ "

That makes his eyes go wide as she adds, "Off, preferably. You'll see-ee~ee."

Elwin counts his lucky stars that she doesn't seem inclined to tear his clothing straight off. Especially in the bizarre miracle that they're to be counted as  _ his _ again. Within that context, acts that would have been far too embarrassing a year earlier have become second nature.

"Oooh," the amazonian giantess says, as he bends straight over, ass up in her direction. The soft, bedroom-voice moan hardens his shaft almost as much as seeing her glorious rack exposed.

Hanna's voice has him held-- hard. About the only downside is that the intoxicating rush of musk from her pussy growing damp almost makes him swoon. But he manages, stepping out of his shoes, then socks, efficiently.

Elwin takes his time standing back up, keeping his voice neutral as he asks, "Would you prefer I made more of a show out of it, Hanna?" He turns to smile hesitantly over his shoulder as he unsnaps his jeans.

She shakes her head slowly, and the flicking of her fingers fast makes her forearm's already enormous macehead underbulge flex and extend rapidly, along with the spiralling coils of long muscles to the wrist.

"I want my pussy piggie, Elwin," Hanna coos, and reaches up to squeeze her thick nipples between two fingers on each hand. "You're cute, but don't keep me waiting."

He swallows heavily, slender shoulders quaking, but he finds the wherewithal to rapidly pull out of his pants. Even the light cool of his apartment air, slowly warming with the Hunter's presence, can't cause him to shrink or slack with her watching him. So, feeling a bit ridiculous, he walks quickly over the bed edge, folds his jeans up to the side, and sits down, fairly average-sized cock hard and throbbing awkwardly between his legs.

For reasons baffling to Elwin, having him half-naked and fully hard turns Hanna on something awful. Her eyes grow wide and she slowly nods, chewing on her lower lip. As though he was something attractive.

Something worthwhile.

"Yeah," she sighs. "That's what Momma likes. Just spread those legs out-- oh."

Her tongue briefly pushes her lip back in place to lick across it. "And sit on your hands," she adds, smirking cruelly.

It's not too terrible, and she didn't make him shove his hands under directly; doesn't object at all as he gets up to put his hands beneath him. The Hungry snarl does make him quaver, but like everything else fear-related with a Hunter, it makes his dick feel like it's trying to engorge out further than blood or skin will permit. He feels lightheaded, ridiculous; he's not ugly and he's in the best shape of his life.

But the enormous woman who was once his friend looks at him like he was some glittering Hollywood star. Some glittering Hollywood star  _ now _ , with the majority of California stuck inside the Deadzones. So many Hunters had their crushes… so few available.

Perhaps more like a wolf with her rabbit; though she's promised not to chew him much as she devours him. And like that wolf forcing her way into his rabbithole, Hanna seems to grow all the more threatening as she is confined. He gasps, barely able to keep his butt on the bed; as she forces her way carefully into  _ his _ rabbithole, he's pinched between her order, his ruddy-colored cock's attempt to yank him over to be a carpet for her, and his stomach's twisting fear.

Trying to make him run, fruitlessly.  _ It'll just make her angry-- worse, sad and disappointed. There's no way to escape; even if it wouldn't enrage her, it'd just make her more horny. _

It's not wise to have one's hindquarters and balls bouncing out when a Hunter is following.

Hanna is far too big and far,  _ far _ too wide to enter the room without shattering the frame and powdering the wall. At least-- not directly. She turns to her right, right hand reaching out to grab the far doorjamb as though to hold it together. Her burly right arm shoves around and past first, planting her palm on the wall, fingers splayed.

Around, and past, and  _ over _ , over the hypnotic squishiness of her breasts, pushing them back towards her chest and making him jerk around in place on the bed. At once he's trying both to stay seated on his hands and to break free to masturbate. Only knowing that it's her promises holding  _ her _ back keeps him from simply surrendering to the urges she forces down all his senses.

"Hanna," Elwin moans, watching his owner's breasts bounce and immense musculature tighten up. She nods to herself, seemingly ignoring him as her legs bend the way redwood trees usually don't.

Of course, as rough as the bark of redwoods are, they don't usually make undulating ridges and prominent swells the way Hanna's legs do, her quads and calves pumping out from just the kneel she makes to get her head clearance.

Huge as her arms and shoulders are, there's barely enough room past them as she prepares to enter. Head first, frizzy bangs falling forward as she ducks and pushes her thickly muscled neck down, the back of her head still scraping the top. With a grunt, she moves forward, the burly-broad expanses of her treetrunk arms vibrating in place as she presses her palms against the walls.

Hanna's curves present even more of a problem than her hardness. Her shoulders are broad and rigid, but she can maneuver them around. Doing so, however, scoops her breasts up hard against the far side of the door.

Breasts that so recently occupied chainmail cups sized by the far end of the alphabet. Given her ass is proportionately extravagant in its bubble beauty, she's forced to make some abrupt decisions about how to fit. Including-- making Elwin's heart skip as it overprovides blood below his waist-- flipping up the back of her chainmail "thong."

_ Right… it's really more of a loincloth. Chain? Loinmail? _

His brain is babbling, all the more so when Hanna notices his slacked jaw and slightly crazed expression. Or perhaps there's a reason she ducks her head forward, bouncing her frizzy bangs everywhere, and gives the doorjamb a little lick while staring at his crotch. In either case, her face darkens but her smile widens, mouth parting in an "Oh!" of pleasure.

_ That's probably her left nipple pushing past the wood… _ a shocked part of his brain insists. Indeed, the soft, curvy masses of her improbably perky left breast is almost past the jamb, save for where the can-sized nipple is held back by the slight extra bump to fit the door.  _ How is the wood not shattering _ ?

It did when she forced her way into his bathroom, in what had been his home. When she came to take him with that hellish glee and terrified Hunger in her eyes. Her hands seem to be vibrating against the wall's surface.

_ Like she's holding the building together. _

Hanna's first orgasm of the evening isn't his work but it is, impossibly, for him. When her left tit finally makes it around the jamb, huge nipple popping free with a lovely jiggly judder, she groans, "Elwin!"

She calls to him in a deep, resonant contralto that shakes over him. The powerful waves of it squeeze precum from his cock even before the scent from her pussy's release hits him. Her eyes roll back in her head for a moment, and her head follows, knocking up into the top of the doorframe.

The entire structure shudders, and dust falls everywhere.

"Whoops," Hanna pants, grunting a bit. She gives him a hazy little smile. "Sorry, pretty thing," she purrs.

Then she licks the long curl the smiles put her lips into. "Might have… to ask the mistress… to get this expanded…"

She giggles. "Or keep it for special occasions, and just get a new bed instead of that couch in the main area." She blows him a kiss as she shakes her head and squeezes herself further forward.

_ Did I say like a wolf in a rabbit's hole? _ Elwin stares as she huffs and inhales, squishing her rump further against the far wall while the chainmail jingles with.  _ Like a wolf into a guinea pig tunnel… _

Huffing and puffing her way through, Hanna takes a moment to push her hugely muscled right arm a bit further in.  _ That _ gets a wince, as her hardened bicep forces the sensitive titflesh hard back against her pecs. Still, as ever, the only thing pain does is make her breathe heavier.

Flesh rises and falls in elongated shapes and spherical, in tight-packed, broad bumps like baseballs packed together, and in long spans like basketballs both inflated and sliced, then layered onto each other.

There's an audible  _ pop _ when she finally forces her right breast past and in, but it's quickly drowned out by her loud, " _ Ahhhnnn! _ " of pleasure. Neither the first nor the second climax was Elwin's work but she quickly makes it clear this one is for him, too, stretching out her deadly legs far to either side and leaning back against the doorframe.

With her head resting almost to the ceiling and her shoulders further apart than the frame, the mighty-muscled woman strokes her supple fingers down over shredded abs, flicking the front of her mail bottom to the side.

He's seen it before, of course; knelt before it, had it ground over almost everywhere on his body above the knees, and definitely on his face. Those brown lips, and the wild, darker brown of her hair, kinkier and thicker than her head-- Hanna's pussy owns his dreams the way her very presence owns his life.

Her fingers run over the arousal-engorged lips and she purrs. "You want to jerk off, don't you, Elwin?" Her middle and ring fingers sweep over one damp lip; the forefinger caresses the others.

"M-m-more," Elwin whispers, unable to look up to meet her eyes. Especially when her thumb starts to circle over the thick nub crowning her clit.

The answer makes Hunger roll through her voice like honey falls from her mound. "Oh?" she breathes. "Do tell, pussy piggie."

"Y-you said it," he groans, shuddering and shaking in his spot. Thin muscles tighten as best they can over his diminutive male frame, and he begins to push his arms back and to the breaking point as he arches his back.

The words bubble up in a near-scream. "Your pussy, M.. Ha-- Please!"

"No, Elwin," Hanna says softly. "I need to know if  _ you're _ ready, too."

"Just say it-- and who knows? You might get what you want. But say it like I told you to."

Elwin's jaw grind and his cock bounces as his torso spasms, an orgasm's inverse running through him. "Hanna, I want to jerk off until I'm raw but not without pleasuring you first, not with two of your orgasms on the air not with… not with how much I  _ need _ to serve you."

"Mmmm?" Hanna purrs. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Ha… ahhh.. mmm!" he groans, unable to help himself as precum begins to drip down, a single, oozing, hair-thick strand connecting his feeble erection to the bed below. "Yes!" he cries out.

"Yes, I  _ am _ your pussy piggie, just like you've said." Elwin knows better than to ask, but he also knows better than to hold back. "That's why, that's why, I need to pig out first,  _ please _ !"

Asking, of course, guarantees he won't, and tears stream down his face. To his surprise, Hanna doesn't swoop in to lick them up. No, she keeps playing with the beautiful, fat labia, periodically teasing her ring finger in deeper; to his shame, the digit's both bigger and longer than his dick, and clearly more satisfying.

"Yeah, okay, piggie. Come oink out to your heart's content." Her thumb slips from her clit and her fingers sweep around, pinning her lips back intimidatingly wide. "Don't keep me waiting, Elwin."

He won't. He can't. He's already crawling on the ground towards her before the fact that the denial was permission even reaches his brain.

The command made it there first.

"Such a messy piggie," Hanna purrs as she watches him scramble forward. "No, keep coming on,  _ my _ messy little piggie!"

She groans as he winces, trying to hold his legs together or somehow otherwise stop his shaft from dripping precum everywhere. "You don't even have to lick it up," she offers.

Then blushes. "Won't make you try that, if you're mine. Not my thing."

Hanna pouts a bit. "I want your tongue  _ clean  _ as it comes into me." He doesn't know why she's made him in the past, then.

_ I wonder if it's like when her eyes seem trapped in her body, _ Elwin thinks, scrambling up to kiss her feet. First one big toe, then the other.

It's time. He swallows heavily. Cock still harder than anything else on him, potentially including bone, he looks up for final permission.

"Yes," she whispers. He can barely see her face from here, but there's an element of wonder mixed with worry for what  _ she  _ can.

Something clicks in his head.  _ If I make this easier on her… maybe it will keep getting easier for me. _

Elwin doesn't, won't, can't fool himself into believing that there's anything like balance between them. No matter how hard her promises hold her or whatever drives her mad from within, he's her victim, forever. But as he closes his eyes and starts kissing his way up her extended right foot, nuzzling towards her shin, then her magnificent calves, he wonders just how free she is.

From anything.

Hanna groans as he works his way up her leg. The striation-crinkled edges and long-grooved main masses of muscle don't terrify him as much as they usually do. The enormous gulf between man and Hunter still stretches out between them, and ordinarily he'd find a promise a slender bridge for such a gap.

His tongue explores the marvelous shape and substance of her ripped bod. Kisses replace licks as he reaches the top of her calf, and he takes a risk, walking over that narrow gap. He nuzzles against the inside of her knee, neither the prescribed action nor a particularly sexual one; seeking intimacy with his huge owner.

Dangerous, when one is between the thigh and calf of a  _ Hunter's _ legs. By the groan and the feel of her arousal striking his back, marking his shirt with her scent, she approves. "More," she whispers, and more he's finally able to give.

After all, he was ready to die today, and here's an immensely powerful, immensely beautiful woman looming over him and watching  _ him _ like he was her delicate princess.  _ No-- her delicate prince. _ She's told him that she put him here to protect him, like some priceless toy on a shelf.

"Thank you," Elwin whispers, and continues his long road up the two point three-five meter tall woman's body. His hands move in as well, stroking lightly over the impenetrable surface of her so-taut skin.

"You actually mean that, Elwin," Hanna says softly. "Are you listening to me, at last?"

He squeezes his palm as best he can over the lower heads of her quadriceps. "I'm slow, compared to you, Hanna. I always will be. But I'm trying to understand."

The huge ridges of flesh have only a little more give than steel-- with far less fragility-- but the tan skin shifts for him anyway.

He can touch her, really touch her for once. Because she wills it so; Hanna's flexing and extending for him in between shuddering moans. His tongue returns to tracing the outline of the fibrous, hard flesh under some truly sensitive skin.

They tremble together; musclebound amazon and thin slave. If there's fear, it's shared; if Elwin's tongue brings pleasure to Hanna on the way up-- and it does!-- then her delighted cries and the intense scent of her arousal is certainly making his cock pulse all the harder.

As he rises closer and closer to his reward and duty, her strong fingers stroke through his hair. The fingertips alone could destroy him, but the light scrub against his scalp leaves him moaning and inhaling deeply. There's much for him to inhale and taste, his tongue slurping up the prior traces of her horniness along her inner thigh.

"Yesssss," Hanna hisses, and above him, the jingle of her absurdly heavy chainmail loincloth tells him his oral efforts are not so much permitted as commanded. The loud  _ thunk _ that follows, of them hitting the far carpet heavily, frees her hands to play with his hair again.

"Please," Elwin groans, not quite sure what he's asking for. He buries his face against her powerful inner thigh, kissing every bit as hungrily as he licks.

Hanna's hands guide him, and his body trembles, hips gyrating heavily as her musk fills his world. "Time to pig out, cute little oinker, she breathes. "I know what you need."

The power is in her hands over everything. She continues to lead him, his senses full of her. Smooth skin over rough-hewn muscles; hot against him as he clings to as much of her enormous quads as he can.

Hanna is so beautiful in her amazonian  _ mass _ , in the intricacies of her body-sculpting.

And the taste and scent of her pleasure makes his world feel like it's been colored with some unknown extra color. "Hanna!" Elwin moans again, fingers quivering as his grip fails, running down the sides of her column-like leg.

Hanna's does not. "Just follow me, sweet little piggie." She guides him towards her sex, caressing his cheeks just as tenderly as the tip of his head.

A brief purr of sadism crosses her lips. "Which do you love more? Me, or my pussy?"

It's the cruelest thing she's said since she stopped beating him, and tears run down his face as he stares helplessly at the gorgeous roundness of her mound. "Hanna, I'm not enough of a  _ person _ to love you," he says hoarsely.

Shivering, Elwin plants a loving kiss on the brown, beautiful vulva. "You've become so much more  _ real _ , and…" Her moan makes some of his fear recede; the touch of a single large finger at his lips makes the rest of him all but melt against her.

The purr that rumbles down from past her huge breasts shakes him, his pressure-point choked dick splattering precum onto the hall floor behind her. " _ Good _ answer, Elwin.  _ Very _ good answer."

Hanna brings more of his shuddering head in between the murderous juggernauts she calls thighs. Forget a scissors; she wouldn't need much more than a pinch to obliterate him. But safe in her hands and promises, he feels  _ far  _ more confident.

Before, he'd have asked every step of the way, and he suspects that with her wives, he'd better keep up the trepidation. But here he is, and here are her pretty petals, pushing the memory of any other girlfriend or porn or anything-- except his other mistresses-- out of his brain and far, far away. His tongue sweeps around the outer mound, nose nuzzling against her dark brown pubes.

" _ Good _ piggie, Elwin!" she cries out. "Feast, and make yourself  _ my _ feast!"

Her powerful muscles continue to rhythmically flex and extend, rippling up and down her legs like hills imitating waves. Her sex gushes over his throat and skinny upper chest, and he twists to lick up as much as he can. Her cries grow more strident, though her hands remain merely firm as they hold him.

His tongue slips in between her engorged labia, drinking her honey deep. He only licks up enough to feel stimulated, the addictive rush of her pleasure calming his shudders and helping him to better adore her nether lips and lovely clit properly. His cock  _ aches _ but he hardly feels it, like he's floating between her huge legs, not merely kneeling.

As is to be expected of a woman like Hanna, she is completely in charge. Whether she wants him more at her lips, or up at her clit, or constantly shifting, she pulls his head along and all he can hope to do is scramble to follow. But unlike before, she's not yanking, and his skull doesn't suffer for slight missed beats.

Truth be told, he doesn't miss many. She may have put Elwin out by the Deadzones for his safety from her as much as anything, but she's been by once or twice a week anyway. And for every firm mercy she grants now, she's forced him to learn with far harsher discipline before.

"Yes!" Hanna roars as he brings her over. Her mercy is well-fed and generous; when her sex clenches as her juices flow, she pulls him back down until he's lip to lip with her.

"French me, piggie," she growls, making a command of his hungered lust. Gratefully, he strokes his tongue back and forth within her, concentrating more on that which brings her pleasure than that which he desires.

Besides, the one follows the other. If some of Hanna's sweet, heady femmecum washed out over his mouth rather than being drunk, well, she's cumming, and more than he could possibly slurp down anyway. Trained and broken to her desires, he is the greedy, messy pussy-piggie she named him.

And Elwin loves it. For a moment, as he twists his tongue to follow her hands' forceful commands, he forgets the Deadzones. Forgets the torture, the twinges in his hips and spine vanished.

Even his throbbing hardness seems so far away, especially as compared to the nearness of her body and her pleasure.

He could almost believe, as he is permitted to suck on her clit, to swirl his tongue over the stiff nub, that the Pulse never happened. Not that he was free, or that the woman growling and purring above him is anything but the physical goddess who rules his life. But that the pain and fear of Pulse night, tragedies and lost friends and terror alike, had never been.

That he had been raised for the sole purpose of giving her head, and that his life is fulfilled with every thrust and lick. Pain is gone and the bone-deep depression has evaporated. He's at peace with being Hanna's pussy-piggie, and his entire little body seems keyed to do it.

Elwin loses track of how many times she cums on his face. Once, in a silly mood, she came over the top of his head by clamping him ever so gently between the upper heads of her quadriceps and flexing lightly. It's incredible, like being a single krill caught between two blue whales, and yet he has never been anywhere safer.

Paradise can't be his forever. It's not just his oral skills Hanna wants, for reasons that utterly escape him. However many hours or days or minutes later she switches his hold down to his (also fragrantly-soaked) shirt and shoulders.

That's all she needs. She claims his body entirely. Her huge grip completely envelops his deltoids, thumbs scooping up under his thin arms as she hauls him up.

First, to his feet, pulling his shirt off completely and throwing it to the side; a pleasant change from having it torn off. Her nails rake, if Elwin can call it that, over his chest. No blood follows, not even the long welts.

The red that follows is more pinkish under his apricottish-coloration, not angry or bright. She is marking him, but only briefly. He arches his back into her hands, groaning at the sensation.

Like his chest has the same amount of nerves as his foreskin per square centimeter, and all of it is Hanna's to activate. Hanna's to control. Hanna's to use.

Like Elwin.

Dark lips pull back into a bright smile, then she crouches down to kiss him, letting the changed Earth help her to support him as his knees cannot. Her palms behind him-- over his ass, between his shoulderblades-- and enormous muscles all around.

Both come down to seize a cheek each, squeezing just hard enough to get a little yelp out of him, yet the pain fades fast as she travels her nails up along his spine, stiffening his body as much as his still-hardened cock. 

Hanna towers over him, the sixty centimeters of height difference nowhere near enough to describe how much in her shadow he is. Naked, strong, and gorgeous-- if it weren't for the brightness of her smile, he'd be stuck twitching and spasming about. Trying to look at everything on her.

Broad shoulders and hard biceps, soft breasts and stiff nipples, rigid abs and the glorious beauty of her wild-haired pubic mound… and of course, those amazing legs.

He's possessed by them even more than in the technical sense. By hips Elwin would die for, even if her legs couldn't kill him. By thighs he's half certain are broader than his shoulders, long and shapely and awe-inspiring.

But Hanna holds him with her smile, and slowly, he calms. Not to peace, for naked in the presence of his owner and former friend he is prey, and he knows it. Moreover, she's made him  _ want _ it, and every jiggle of her tits and every little tug and swell of muscles reminds him.

"It's time to make a choice, Elwin," she tells him softly. "Maybe it's not quite so fair to do so like this, but nothing  _ is _ fair any more."

_ I suppose not. _

"I can fuck you over on the bed, and you can be scared, and small, and alone." He jerks in the embrace of Hanna's smile, but listens  _ very  _ carefully. "I leave you here, come back to fuck you two or three times a week, and you'll hurt, and diminish, and eventually, you'll walk out into the Deadzone."

He blinks, and she shrugs, powerful shoulders rolling like boulders and giant breasts jiggling like boulders don't. "I won't stop you," she says, sadder than he could have believed would be possible.

Then Hanna's eyes catch him, and he wonders whether it's sadness, or suppressed rage. "Mistress Lita will make us nominate someone else, and I'll stop him, or her, oh yes. Because I won't have any mercy left except for Lawrence, and Yvette's staring out at me from his eyes most of the time anyway."

Elwin swallows heavily, and nods. That's more mercy than most Hunters would have, even letting him die. "And if I choose you, what happens?"

He doesn't know where she was holding it, or if, despite the door, she just dashed to and from the home to bring it back. A single, simple collar of some black, smooth, rubber-like material, bordered with a thin line of green, top and bottom. Hanna's colors.

"If you make me a happy woman," she says softly, "Then I put this around your throat and it doesn't come off."

That makes Elwin swallow even more heavily, but it feels constricted. Like she's already got it on his throat. But she doesn't…

"Mistress promised us," Hanna says softly. "Even if it's cut, as long as we keep you alive, it will reform, and anyone, everyone in Candyland will know you're  _ mine _ , and the worst you'd get for anything except deliberate offense is a spanking and being sent home to me."

Hanna smiles fondly. "I know you've been getting a little snarky in that little head of yours, baby, but don't worry. That's the Deadzone talking; you've seen too much death, too much of the poisonous kind of pain, and not enough of the pleasurable. I don't think you'll shame me... "

Another shrug follows, but this time he doesn't dare leave her eyes, icy and cold as though they were blue or grey. "Not more than once or twice, since I'd have more room to maneuver in training you, anyway." He swallows, and nods.

Beaming, the once-more friendly mistress in her comes to the fore. "And that'll be fun if it comes anyway!" Fun for her-- and that's what matters, isn't it?

_ It is… It really is. I wish I got to be a person still, I do, and I'm going to cry a lot, but… _

_ I don't  _ matter _ anymore. _ The truth of the changed Earth brands him straight to his bones. To his soul.

_ She does. _

So Elwin swallows and nods. "Excellent!" she crows, big breasts bouncing about with her cheer, each wobble taking away the empty numbness of the Deadzone and replacing it with a blissful, anaesthetic high.

Hannah holds out the collar again, each end delicately held in each of her huge hands. He looks up at her eyes, searching for some sign.  _ Her _ eyes flicker about, looking all over him in ways the mistresses don't usually have to.

"You don't have to take it, pretty pussy piggie," she shudders, confusing him. "Pretty little Elwin."

"You were a friend, you were-- I know-- you looked at me, but I know you were a friend. So you don't have to take it. But it would mean a lot to me... and it would mean more protection for you."

Elwin smiles hesitantly. "I'll take it, Hanna, because it means a lot to you. Because you matter more than I could ever dream."

He swallows again. Feeling like his throat is already caught. "So do I put it on, or…"

Hanna laughs. "You? Of course not. You said it yourself."

The predator burns brighter in her brown eyes, and she licks her lips, stepping closer to him. "I'm the one who matters, so I'm the one who'll put it on you. We swear, and then you're  _ mine _ ."

Chuckling, she adds, "Don't worry. I'll tell you what to say."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans misunderstand the Hungers. They're crueler to Hunters; it's the Hunters who are cruelest to humans. It seems like the finest of split hairs-- but it isn't. Every moment of Hanna Davis's life is spent either in the agony of having them tear at her body, mind, and spirit, or feeling the claws inch closer to all three.
> 
> It tears at her, and in response, she nearly tore both of her two remaining friends to pieces. Her dominant stepped in. Now, at last, a confluence of Elwin's service, the Pride's performance, and the technological curiosity of the dread Moto-Lita have put Hanna and Elwin in a position to at last-- if not equalize impossible scales-- stabilize their relationships.
> 
> Elwin gets to keep something like sanity, or at least that which passes for it on the changed Earth, and the nigh-absolute confidence in his survival in Hanna's arms. Hanna gets her favorite pussy-piggie as a fucktoy, personal attaché, steward, and live game miniature.
> 
> All they have to do is swear, and in the swearing, become locked forever as Muscle Goddess Owner...
> 
> And more than just Well-Fucked Pussy Piggie Pet.
> 
> He gets to live; she gets the closest thing she can have to a non-Hunter friend.

It's not that Elwin Yeung hasn't sworn to Hunters before. Trembling, on his knees, generally, but Hanna seems opposed to that today. "This is where you get to take a bit of a stand, Elwin," she told him with a quiet chuckle.

No, he's not particularly sure what that means, either.

Naked in his apartment, before a naked giantess, he'd have thought he'd be shivering more. Hanna didn't let him clean his face off. In fact, she stroked her thick-scented arousal further over him until it covered most of his forehead, cheeks, nose, and definitely, chin and mouth.

_ Maybe that's the point. _ The frankly hypnotic taste of her is all over him, and as the musk filters in, his every breath makes him more hers. The last time she raped him, no more than a few days back, he was terrified by the way her appearance, her scent, her voice-- her everything-- affected him.

Now, it's comforting. Elwin is starting to believe in the strength of her promises. For one, his body does  _ not  _ have the usual soreness and cracked bones, to be patched up by some of the strange tubes of gunk from In-Site's questionable laboratory.

Nor is he beaten so badly and thoroughly she's had to haul him off to the lab for repairs...

Oddly enough, getting back was never his responsibility. Moto-Lita wanted the Deadzones watched. Pulling him out and putting him in was always up to them.

He's had to be healed from just giving Hanna or one of the others hello head. He's had to be structurally rebuilt from hello head, honestly. Well, he's been  _ told  _ that happened at least once. All he remembers is Yvette's Hungry smile turning dark, and being hauled home by…

Hanna, come to think of it.

No, naked, forced to keep up an incompletable erection by something Elwin is  _ sure _ is restricting bloodflow, his titanic owner standing over him with the very direct promise to fuck him more often… He's never felt better. Not just since the Pulse.

Never felt better in his life.

Smiling hesitantly back up at his dark-haired owner, he nods. "I'm ready, Ha-- Mistress Hanna?" he asks, suddenly going stiff. This all feels so much more formal than before.

Still holding his new collar in her right hand, Mistress Hanna nods. "For now, baby," she purrs.

"I'm going to want to hear my name spoken with love from you for a while. But for now… The differences matter."

How could he not speak her name with love now? She's promising to hold him as her own. The fear of just a few minutes past is gone. He  _ wants _ to be hers.

She steps closer to him, beautiful muscles working all along her gorgeous legs, the twisting, swaggering steps making her abs and obliques dance to match. The collar looks so tiny in that huge hand. Of course, said hand could encircle his neck completely; that might be a part of it.

"So here's what's going to happen," she says, voice firm. "I go first. That is your  _ last  _ chance to back out."

The firmness weakens but does not soften. "Absolutely, totally, final chance, and it will disappoint me considerably... But it is a chance."

Elwin swallows heavily. "Yes, Mistress Hanna." It's the right answer; the first of many.

He hopes.

"So," Hanna purrs, fiddling with the collar. "Here we go. Let's talk about what you will swear-- and what you will become."

"You are going to swear to be my personal slave. To obey me to the limits of your capability and to be loyal past the limits of your body and mind. You will swear to keep yourself fit and pretty for me as I command."

She shrugs, idly. "I'll send you some makeup and clothing tips, well, requirements… As for the other-- I'll e-mail you and I'll have one of my meta bitches install the gym equipment in the apartment across from yours; your keycard will work there now."

She chuckles. "Anyway, don't repeat that bit. You know what I mean."

Elwin kind of does, really. He thinks. Probably.

"You swear to protect yourself as my property, to protect my other property as best you can after that, unless I command otherwise. My wives are my peers; you will obey them as you obey me. Do you understand, Elwin?"

He whimpers a bit, but nods. "I do. I'll repeat it when I am bid."

Her left hand strokes his cheek. "My good little pussy piggie has learned to memorize, huh?" She chuckles when he nods swiftly.. "Good piggie. Now..."

His hugely muscled owner smiles down at him, chewing on her lower lip like he was one of her model sluts and not just some IT guy she used to know. The intensity of her lust makes his cock feel like it's somehow finding extra erectile tissue to add on. "I'll take care of the rest."

Voice as warm on him as a sauna, she purrs again. "But I am so proud of you, my pretty pussy piggie. Thank you for choosing to live for me."

His whole body tingles with her approval, nipples hard, ass tight, slender little chest puffed out about as well as any. Trying to bow his head doesn't work, and his cheeks blush with more than just arousal when he finds himself continuing to stare up into her eyes. She winks-- and strokes her left fingers down over her mound, her tongue swirling over her smile in time with her fingers' lower motions.

That, now that makes him tremble a bit. No matter what she's promising, no matter what change in his status is going to follow, she is a Hunter. His fear and pain don't just excite her.

They feed her; they get her off. 

"Yes, my sweet little piggie. I'm going to hurt you, a lot. I'm going to rule you, Elwin; this I promise."

There's real fire in Hanna's dark brown eyes now; her nipples throb and stiffen even further and her sex gushes over her fingers. "Just like your dick. I might leave it like that for days, only able to cum in me, or not at all. But…"

Elwin's breathing is heavy and his eyes open wide. Each breath carries more of her intoxicating aroma into his lungs, but he sees clearly what this is. For him, her protection, care, and sponsorship.

For her, food. And the care and protection are those  _ of _ a Hunter. Not from her. Except…

"But I do promise that I will hold myself back as best I can from seriously harming you. That you will  _ not _ be killed, mutilated, or damaged beyond repair, so long as it is in my power. As long as you remain true to me, and to my Pride, and to our Mistresses the Warqueens, I will keep you safe, even when I'm riding you on the edge of death."

If it wasn't for the entrancing effects of her power, her muscles, and her sex, he'd be on the floor, whimpering for it to all stop. Hanna tramples over his fear like she would his body. Without thinking twice.

"I am Hanna Davis of the Fivefold Warrior Pride. As I have spoken, so shall I do; so do I swear. I swear I will command you, and own you, protect you and guide you. You will be my slave, but also my hand and my voice."

The power the massively muscled Hunter holds is more than physical, greater than her obscene strength. The air is heavy with far more than just her heady musk. He can feel it; more than just a collar is going to lock around his throat.

"Until I am satisfied that I can properly look after you and I have a suitable replacement, I will support you as Warqueen Lita's border watch for the Deadzones." It makes her grim for a moment, and then almost squeaky-cheerful. "But when that's done, we'll get a replacement for you, and you will come home to learn your full responsibilities."

His eyes go wide, and she nods. "I have  _ far _ more purpose for you than just softening the ache in my heart and the need in my pussy. This too, I swear. Life, pain, sex, and to me you will be my pet so long as you remain true. What do  _ you _ swear, Elwin Yeung?"

Elwin makes his way through his oath exactly as Hanna described. Sudden terror fills him when he finds his body speaking on anyway without him. Lightning follows the fear, crackling through his limbs and concentrating in his chest.

"I swear that I will be yours, truly and faithfully, for as long and whenever I live. That I will obey and act as obedience would require; live for you, die if you command, and that my love for my mistress will keep me. Even if all else is lost, that will not be."

It's the right thing to say, apparently. " _ Yes! _ " Hanna cries, as though his surrender was some great triumph.

For a brief moment, his massive Mistress is standing with her back arched, stomach sucked in and abs clenching. Her breasts shake forward, the huge, lightly tan jugs bigger than his torso. Her jaw drops a bit, lips parting in a groaning inhalation.

In Elwin's chest, he feels all the electric, clenching pulses draw out as she breathes. For that moment, his body isn't just weak, it's without any strength at all, going utterly limp. If it lasted for more than that forever moment, he'd have crumpled to the floor.

_ She's devoured me, _ he realizes dully. Except for Mistress Hanna, the room is going dark. She's growing brighter and brighter the more everything dims.

Every glistening inch of her, from treetrunk thighs to stone-hard abs to powerful shoulders and all parts between and associated, glows for a moment as she drinks him in. Inhales him like some perfume, testing him and swallowing him down without ever touching him. He can't cry out-- and doesn't entirely want to.

There's no pain here, no fear. She's devoured those, too. No worries, no loathing of each new day and each new horror found.

There's really no Elwin at all.

Just Mistress Hanna, and her desires.

Except.

Mistress Hanna desires her Elwin. Not just her pretty pussy piggie, by whatever standards a gigantic mega-amazon considers a five-nine skinny nerd to be pretty. She's the one who makes the standards, not him.

But she wants her friend back, at least as much of him as she can have. He isn't enough-- not real enough, not a person enough, not powerful enough-- to interact with her on even a near peer basis. But this is the time of the Hunters, and for them, ownership can lend a certain amount of reality, for a time.

Before Elwin can fall, expended, the collar locks around his neck-- seals, really. He can't feel any clasp or mechanism; it's just one piece, as though it was painted on to his throat. There's a pair of loops at the front; one's an empty D-ring, clearly meant for a leash; below it, his tag, cold against his skin.

And so, owned, he has strength again. Not strength such as Hunters count it, but enough in his slender body to still stand as the voluptuous muscle-woman who owns him has ordered. He inhales deeply; nothing that Mistress Hanna devoured returns to him, but it is in him anyway.

He no longer even owns his own pain or death. Whatever it was that she drew in, now only remains in his body because she locked it there. Because she wants him here.

His life, locked in place.

The collar is doing something to him, Elwin is sure. Bonding to him without becoming a part of his skin. And every time his blood pumps through his neck, feeding his brain, it feels like some part of the collar is inserting  _ something _ along with it.

Or maybe that's just Mistress Hanna's scent, all around him and within.

He's arrested in place; about all he can do is blink and breathe. It even takes his heart a few breaths to restart. It burns, but not like pain. Like data-- this is wrong, in a hot-like way.

Pain is no longer familiar.

Mistress Hanna kneels down to stroke at the line of the collar. "Mm, that's my pretty piggie," she says with a nod, then hooks her finger into the D-ring.

Eyes wide, she lets out an (almost) orgasmic moan. "Come along. It's time for you to learn how to be fucked."

_ Oh, fuck. Everything before was just prelude… _ Elwin swallows, but it's caught by the collar.

"Yes, Hanna," he mumbles, little muscles shaking. But he holds himself with something like pride.

Regardless of whether or not  _ he _ has complete faith in the strength of her promises doesn't matter. She does. So she's going to take him places she never would have dared before.

\---

_ Well, not everywhere is new, but the familiar is where I belong! _

The first place his mistress took him was indeed back to his bed, lifted bodily up by the shoulders, kissed firmly and then lofted onto the solid mattress. But even the familiar is new, in some ways. Although he can tell no difference in the way her powerful muscles pump and move, he doesn't get the familiar full-body slap sensation when he lands.

"Hanna?" Elwin asks, blinking as he pulls himself up on his elbows. That weird pain-data sensation teases along his back.

Unacceptably, it seems.

The huge Hunter grins. "It's started already. Good. Get some pillows under your back; remember, you're  _ my _ toy now, and I want to be the only thing hurting you."

Swallowing as heavily as the collar permits, he scoops up his pillows and pushes them under his back. Hanna's grin broadens, and she makes little growling sounds as he squirms around, cock aching and bobbing around.

Elwin's body feels so weird. He's not drifting outside of it anymore, but it feels like when she collared his essence back into his body, she kept some part. Or his body grew alien in the time apart.

It's not bad, just weird, but he doesn't have time to investigate. It's not  _ his _ time, anyway. Horny and Hungry, Hanna is on him.

One moment, she's watching him and making unsubtle comments about how he should squirm for her. The next, she's already leaning across him on the bed. Her left foot is planted up beside his right shoulder, immense calf already starting to swell out in flexion.

Whatever is alien about his body seems to make him bolder, too. He twists to his right and lovingly kisses the tensing, hard bulge of her calf, making her purr with delight. Still, she snags his collar ring again and twists him back towards her.

"I want you  _ watching _ what's coming for you, Elwin. Dear; my Elwin dear. Believe me, this is going to be all new for you."

He blinks. The first time she enveloped his cock, he nearly exploded. If his senses have been reset or something…

Elwin still doesn't own enough time to be afraid. Her right thigh comes up to his chest normally; she's leaning on it across the bed with her left foot as anchor. It's also definitely broader than his torso-- unflexed.

Extended like this, it's like her huge leg is a slightly shorter but much brawnier lover lying beside him.

But it's what's between those immense thighs that holds him. The heat of her sex sears his nerves once again, leaving him screaming her name and bracing his arm around her ankle. Hanna squeezes as she sinks herself onto his little cock, using her immense microcontrol both to hold him tightly and to stimulate his crown.

"Ahhhh," she moans. "That's it.  _ Fuck _ , such a tiny thing but you feel so  _ good! _ "

"So good because you're so mine," she growls at him, the truth of it ringing through his body. The moist entrance grips around him and he thrusts his shoulders hard back against the pillows, lifting his ass to try to thrust deeper into his gorgeously strong Mistress. He wails out her name, but she takes her time.

Elwin gets nowhere, of course, eyes crossing as a completely stifled orgasm hits him from just having the tip and a little past held in her hot, tight sex. The fat labia grip down on him, her inner muscles squeezing like a tunnel of tongues. The left side of her mouth quirks into a broader smile, and she moans, the rumble of her voice overriding and overwhelming his cries.

Lower and lower her gargantuan body comes, torso high and proud and covered in clenching muscles. Her voluminous breasts bounce with every short breath, every panted "Ha-ah!" of pleasure as she takes him further in. His precum flows, but it's her pussy-juice that coats his cock and prepares the both of them.

His hands grip the bed feverishly. With his lips curling back and his toes pointing, he tries to squirm around beneath her, held immobile by that powerful pussy. "Hanna-- how-- I--" All he manages is babble.

Tilting her head to the left, Hanna takes a moment out of enjoying herself, first to pull her sweat-drenched bangs back over her left ear, then to stroke his femmecum-stained forehead, teasing his hair back along his temples.

"Don't worry so much, Elwin," she moans. "I told you it'd be new. I'm not going to let you cum; I'm not going to let you go."

The moan drifts into a not-too-frightening growl. "I'm not going to even let you hurt yourself a  _ smidge _ more than I want you. So just lie back, look at Hanna, and enjoy the sights."

A mischievous grin follows as she extends her left knee, heel pushing across the sheets. Her hands come up to palm her heavy breasts, over areolae wider than  _ her _ hands, fingers gripping around her fat nipples. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that the parts of me that drink you in first are always these, even when you're trying to be a good piggie, yeah?"

The way her oodles of breastflesh bounce and jiggle-- and the way her hot tightness clenches him below-- makes it impossible for Elwin to do anything but scream the truth. " _ Yes! _ "

Hanna laughs, and it is a beautiful, blessing thing that surrounds him.

"Told you it'd be all new," she says with a smile. "I've waited ever so long to make you mine, Elwin. My whole Pride is proud of you."

Before he can parse the statement-- a possibly impossible task-- Hanna scoops her left leg around, kicking the pillows out from beneath him and replacing them with her own hard, hot muscle. But instead of being pulped by the impermeable flesh all around, he's supported carefully.

Somehow, her skin has just enough give against her powerful muscles that he's cradled between the various massive bulges rather than squished by them. He doesn't understand it. But he  _ definitely _ welcomes being able to perform her will.

"In a moment, this--- ahh!" she gasps. "This is going to hurt, baby. But the refractory cancel's not in yet, so it's got to."

Letting go of her bouncing breasts, her fingers trace the lines of tension on his forehead, over his chest. "Fucking cute little thing. So-- unf! So  _ weak! _ "

Her strength is carefully moderated; a massage, not a beating.

Yet.

As for Elwin, he's still shaking and twitching between her pussy, her thigh, and her calf, and it's hard to say which has the most power over him. He can't even manage her name, just, "Ha," "Ah!" and variations thereof.

For that matter, her foot is rubbing and fondling at his taut little asscheeks, and her hands trail out over his laughably small arms. It rubs, flexing her calf and bouncing him anew into her sex. What else can he do but writhe for her?

Hanna shows him. Before, when she raped him, she usually told him to keep his hands as far back from her as possible. Plastered on the bed, caught between her limbs, crushed between her breasts-- except for the last, he was functionally ordered to shrink away from her in every direction.

Now her strong hands guide his wrists up. Her brown eyes sparkle. "Oooh. You're ready to be ridden-- heh!"

Grunting a bit she pulls his hands back around her. "But, mmmf, you're not ready for my tits yet," she tells him, bearing down on his dick and making his eyes and mouth go wide.

"But you will be, and I want you used to this." Her smile lights up his everything. "New body, new life, new privileges."

Elwin doesn't have much time to do more than mumble a few noises of inquiry before she plants his hands onto her hips. He feels like she's giving him the time. Giving him life.

"Squeeze," she orders. "You can't possibly hurt me; I want you to hold on  _ tight _ ."

Obeying, his hands clench onto the soft padding of her curved hips. He worries for a few moments; surely there must be some discomfort for him grabbing in like this? But the firm flesh settles into his hand; too dense to get much of a pinch, but he does, in fact, have a hold above the more powerful muscles beneath.

" _ Good _ ," she hisses. Flexing her calf muscles even bigger, she pushes him back up against her body. "You can start responding now."

It's laughed; his hips are already gyrating, but only her leveled control of the tightness of her tunnel, where and how much, allows him to move at all. Elwin's body is full of the warmth, full of the fire having her enveloping his cock gives. She has the whole slightly curved length inside, puffy labia kissing his short, black pubes and his balls trapped behind.

Other than a few encouraging groans, she mostly just ignores his attempts to thrust beneath her heavy body. Her hands move possessively across his skinny chest, eyes widening as she rocks him into her slit. He's not sure how he can still see at all; his eyes at least  _ feel _ rolled up into the back of his head, and there's a haziness around everything but his Mistress.

Hanna's power and mass are undiminished. She's fucking him from behind and beside and above and around now. His own gyrations are just little accents, after all.

When he's thrust in deep to meet her broad hips pounding down onto him, it's not from his puny muscles. No more than her hands are moved by the heat around them. Instead, the ball of her calf grows and contracts as she flexes it, somehow completely separate from her quads.

Those, to his right, cram up against him, a sort of rolling flex/extend domino motion that grabs him from the side and moves him up and further up, each swing through her sub-flexing grooves accompanied by fresh clenching in her cunny. It's all he can do to hang on. But that seems to be okay.

One of Hanna's hands comes down to stroke his cheek; the other plants on his chest as her first orgasm hits. "Piggie!" she cries, and her sex wrenches so hard he's not sure his cock doesn't explode-- with pleasure, or literally.

But her promises protect him as she takes him through the wringer. And as Elwin is learning… The only thing a Hunter has stronger than her body, are her promises.

There's pain, yes; she promised pain. That much muscle surrounding him can't help but hurt; not even his bones are harder than her flesh. But she shifts with him now, and the pain doesn't seem to bring damage with it.

"Nn… uhn… mmm!" Panting and grunting, she fucks him. Rapes him still, for all he's willingly surrendered. Her will is too great to call this anything more than what it is.

And that's better than fine; it feels  _ amazing. _ There's nothing he can do now but follow where she goes. Even those movements he tries to match, she just takes.

Burning runs through his muscles, especially when she cums again. "More!" she roars at him. 

Snarling impatiently, she grabs his hair with her left hand and pulls him forward until his ass is resting on her calf and his face is pulled against the bottom of her tits. The breastflesh all but pours around his head while her broad right palm strokes over his back. His muffled cries earn him another gushing, his cock and most of his groin washed in the far larger woman's juices.

Now she fucks him from all directions. "More! Unf…  _ MORE! _ " she roars, again and again.

Hard abs and soft breasts; flat palm and squeezing cunt; her left leg folded around him still, from the bouncing her calf lays into his butt. Even his left side is now surrounded, the macelike bulge of her forearm and the harsh peak of her bicep grinding against his arm. She takes him, and she cums, not just around him, but  _ because _ of him.

Are there any slaves more treasured outside the bowers of the Great Mistresses?

But even though she permits him no climaxes to match her own, he is full of pleasure. "Ahhh! Mistress Hanna!" He screams her name into her breasts, even losing himself and tugging on her hips to pull his own harder and harder against her.

Presumption that would have bought him broken bones does get a tightening of her huge pecs, and through them, her huger tits.

But not a  _ hardening _ of them. Instead, she simply massages her breasts over Elwin's head again and again by pure personal control, the bounce from her calf's giant ridges fucking him up into them, too. His whole life is her body, now.

"I want more, pussy piggie," Hanna growls, felt more than heard as her full tits reverberate around his head. " _ Mmm! _ I said  _ more! _ Much more!"

He gasps with shock, and though he can't imagine from where he'll get more to give her, he tries anyway.

She lets him try, too. His poor little muscles burn with anoxic respiration, trying to match her sex's merciless demands. Sweat drips down him, drenching his hair, coating his bare, beige-ish skin, slicking his motions through her muscular embrace.

Not that it reduces one whit her control over Elwin's body, of course; if anything, she seems to grab him tighter by fluid adhesion.

When he feels like his heart will burst or every tendon strain at once, she yanks his head back by the hair again. She nods just a bit, as though for a moment, just a moment, part of her is satisfied. But not for long.

Abruptly, her eyes narrow at him and her smile is viciously fierce. "You'll do better by the time I'm back for you, I promise," Hanna growls, and then-- still holding him with his neck almost completely extended-- she  _ takes _ the more he can't give.

_ By tomorrow? _

Huge muscles and their fractal tertiary consorts swell and redouble around him. Squeezing hardness tightens his world until it feels like only his head is free, the blood rushing around as she pounds him. Her pussy is the hardest of all, the hot moistness grabbing his stifled cock again and again and again, squeezing down so hard he sobs.

"Yes!" Hanna laughs out harder. "Cry for me, Elwin! Cry for me, sweet little piggie!"

Elwin isn't sure how his little prick isn't utterly smashed by her big, tight pussy. If not smashed, then surely, the unculminated pleasure has to be exploding it. Dissolving it. Dominating it.

But while his brain no longer registers the feel of his cock's crown or shaft as anything but a nebulous, lightning-cloud of sensation, she seems satisfied by what she takes. Or at least, Hanna is aroused by it. "Nngh!" she cries out, and bears down all the harder, all the faster.

She uses him and his stuck-stiff shaft like a dildo, grinding him up so that the veiny surface of his shaft is rubbed against that hardness as much as the angle will allow. Her sex seizes his shaft again and again, pulling it up and pushing it down every bit as violently-- or more-- than the action of her calf against his ass or her palm against his back.

"Please, Hanna!" he moans. "Please, I need to cum so much, please!"

The battering force of her fucking redoubles. "Yes," she hisses again. It's not permission and he knows it.

It is a command. "Tell your Mistress how much you need it," the massive Hunter snarls.

Sobbing and thrashing back, crying from pain and pleasure and millions of things between, he whimpers. "I need it. I can't need it as much as I need you to cum, not even half, but I need it more than breathing, more than water, more than food, please let me cum, Hanna!  _ Please! _ "

Each word is punctuated by his pointless attempts at thrusting. If he even  _ vibrates _ his body as much as her squeezing muscles do, he'd be surprised. Now, his eyes  _ do  _ roll up far enough into his head that he can't see her.

It doesn't change a thing. He can imagine her even better, the heat of his blush spreading further over his body. He drools and cries out, trying to beg with his suffering.

He's got no expectation that Hanna will let him cum yet. Mistresses don't, not when you can beg more and still even partially form words. She's only climaxed like ten or twelve times onto him; why would she let him have anything?

_ I need to stop assuming; Mistress said this would all be new _ .

Her eyes are tender but her smile crazed. "Good boy," she sighs. "You're so  _ tasty _ , Elwin!"

What happens next is… not easy for Elwin to understand. Her fingers slam into points along his spine; her sex squeezes, lighter than before-- mostly-- and she rolls him towards her left and in, smishing his face completely into her lushly extravagant breast.

He screams into that plush, smooth flesh, screams and screams and screams as his whole body reacts. Not just from agony-- and there is plenty of that-- but from a sudden pleasure too great to contain. He curls his entire body towards his gargantuan owner, eyes closed tight and hair straining at her unyielding grip.

"Hanna!" he tries to howl, but he can't even breathe, face covered in far too much succulent breastflesh for that. The only things he can feel are the heat and tightness of her sex, the heft and hardness of her muscles, and the pillowing softness of her breast…

Like it's sucking all of his screaming, all of his pain, right into Hanna. His owner, his mistress. Where everything he is belongs.

Out of his own control, Elwin's hands clamber up along her obliques, gripping so hard he can feel the bruises forming already. His legs swing up, trying to hook further into her body, and his balls follow. Of all the odd sensations he feels before briefly blacking out, it's like his nuts are swelling  _ larger _ the more he cums into her.

There's no punishment-- he thinks-- other than the pain his body gives. He just orgasms, thrashing back and forth within her surrounding strength. When his senses return to a comprehensible but merely overwhelming state, she's just fucking him the same as when she let him climax.

Her right arm and left leg, huge and relentless, keep hammering Elwin into her body while their opposites hold them both stable. Her sweat and musk cover him, drenching him even more than when he worshiped the pussy currently forcing his cock into hardness again. Whatever the refractory cancel is, some dim part of him wonders if it will be more or less painful than the sensation of a climax past and shaft softening…

Only to be gripped so hard and with such supple muscle control that his cock is more or less slapped back into full erection. Hanna wants to play still. He can't tell how much he's climaxed; the moist slickness all around his cock is almost certain to be nearly totally her own juices, flooding over him again and again.

He's still clinging around her, though his hands have fallen back into the squooshy comfort of her bountiful hips. Elwin isn't entirely sure how his anything works anymore. What  _ does _ a spleen do, anyway?

For her part, she's let him relax far enough back to breathe. "There's a good piggie," she coos, letting his head slump limp so she can reach up and push sweat away from her forehead.

"You feel amazing, Hanna," Elwin breathes, clinging on to her steadily. He's still sobbing lightly, and he has to lick away some drool in order to speak.

His left eye is twitching and his muscles are locking up such that only she can move him; his own motive force is given only to automatic spasming, thrusting weakly within her steady, pounding use of him.

"Told you it would, ah… mmmm… ahnnn!" she gasps, then strokes his fingers all around his back.

Winking, she finishes. "Told you it  _ all  _ be new," she purrs at him, and runs her hand over his head.

Then she gives a happy giggle. The hand smooths back his hair, strokes his head into a more comfortable position, and shapes him, all the while her body jackhammers around and over him. "We're not even done!"

He stares up at her, jaw finding some room to slack. "H-how… I can't even…."

_ Fuck! She wanted a friendly fucktoy, a fucktoy with friend benefits… But I'm giving her a babbling, drooling idiot! _

Once, Elwin wondered what it would be like to run away. Once, he wondered if there was somewhere out there where he could truly escape the mistresses' notice. Now, the thought that she'll abandon him for some flaw terrifies him more than he can say.

Hanna seems to interpret the minute change in pressure from his fingers gripping so hard they'd bleed on anything but her softest of curves-- lucky for him that's where she wants those hands!-- and the tears streaming down his face.

"Uhhnnff!" Still steadily rolling those beautifully lush hips down over his cock again and again, she strokes his tears away with her fingers. Not to feast; just to soothe.

"Oh, Elwin," she says with a laugh. "You're never-- mmm!-- You're never getting away again."

Groaning again, she suddenly wraps both I-beam thick arms around him, muscles bulging wildly like bowling balls suddenly inflating all at once. "You're-- ahh!-- my pussy piggie now. You don't have to change, mmm, no. You don't have to do anything except obey, and  _ live _ !"

The last part is said with something suspiciously like a sob of her own, except it's spun into a grunt that has her mammoth mammaries slapping him around again. Elwin has no time to worry or wonder.

He only has awareness to be fucked, an object in her arms with no true volition of his own.

Hanna acts. Hanna fucks-- no, even in the bliss she grants him, Hanna  _ rapes _ . Even emptying his balls afresh, dooming himself to another wrenching squeeze of her pussy-- that's just reacting.

Her Hungers take; all he can do is follow.

And live.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Pulse, everyone was the hero of their own story, or at least the protagonist. Narrating the universe from their point of view, contextualizing it to their values, interpreting it. Only a few, impinged upon by magic, psionics, or other forms of manipulation, were forced into another lens.
> 
> Now, and forever, the changed Earth is the domain of the mighty. Hunters and Stealers vying to dominate or devour reality, sweep everyone up into their wake. Between the Hungers and Theft, everyone else is food, one way or another.
> 
> And knows it.
> 
> But that's not always the hell it seems to be. At last, Hanna Davis has found a place to stand where she can exist as the Hunter she is, yet not grind one of the last links to the good part of her past down. Putting Elwin here gave her time and space for discipline, bought augmentation for him. She's the hero, the Pride's the POV, and all should be well.
> 
> But they have a job to do. A massive Monster-type Stealer is preparing to charge the Deadzones in response to whatever call that awful place has. It will die, horribly, and then they need to pick up the slaves left in its wake.
> 
> Such a pity Hanna hears the call, too...

Elwin Yeung falls limply but not lifelessly from Hanna Davis' muscular embrace. His shoulderblades curl across her knee; his legs, over the side of the bed. Laughing softly to herself, she scoots her more-than-Elwin-thick left leg out from under the pretty little thing, dropping into a semi-splits across the bed.

Even though he's unconscious, he feeds her. He hangs from her pussy, shaft stretching slightly as she keeps her petals nice and tight around him. Once she's let him bob and dance a few times, pain twisting his face and so-called muscles a few times, she sighs her last pleasured groan, and relaxes her powerful pussy.

_ Thank you, Yvette. Thank you for being my Mistress. Thank you for teaching me so brutally. _

Hanna's thoughts are shared with her most-beloved wife. The statuesque French-American woman's senses tingle with adoration.  _ He's a root, a link to your past that you loved. I'm glad you had the sense to let him go, after Lawrence. _

Hanna busies herself, slinging Elwin around like the slightly animate toy he is. She wants him to have good dreams, so she twists him over so his head's on the edge of the bed, then sits on his chest. He's so small compared to her that her plump asscheeks can squoosh across and over to each side, and it's an act of nearly no concentration at all to keep the majority of her weight on her thighs.

Which is important; she'd break his poor little neck if she tried giving him her full weight too soon!

_ I'm actually sort of envious, _ April's shared thoughts chime in. April is broader in the shoulder than Hanna, but just as naked, her dark skin bare as she rapes two of her favorite women at once.  _ Mistress Lita is so kind to give you the chamber-lock collar. _

_ We paid for it, _ Hanna reminds her wife.  _ Putting him here was an investment that paid off on both ends _ .

She just whistles to herself for a few moments as the other four members of her Pride make sure she's well attended. Her pussy gushes a mixture of her fragrant femmecum and his thin jizz over his face; his unconscious squirms a lovely treat, but none of them want  _ any _ of their Pride alone near the Deadzone.

It's easy enough for Hanna to make sure her little cushion isn't drowned, able to see beneath and through herself. When she's coated his face-- and neck and ears and hair-- thoroughly enough she giggles, stands, and pulls his body around, fat breasts bouncing wildly all the while.

Little Elwin will wake having dreamt off his fear, his malaise, and his shock of transformation. It's good for him, and it's her job to decide what's good for him now. He'll learn soon enough what just the oath and a few minutes--  _ Oh, an hour, huh, he lasted an hour already? Good piggie! _ \-- of the Warqueen's "super-harem" treatment can do.

It's the work of a moment to get her chainmail set on. She sighs happily as the familiar weight digs in to her breasts' squish.  _ It was a  _ little _ mean of me to make him pick this up, _ she thinks, stroking her nipples through the bra.

_ The right  _ kind _ of mean, though! _ Laughing softly so as not to wake him, Hanna steps outside of the room, remembering to turn the light off at the last moment; only a few of her mental threads even remembered it was there.

Warqueen Lita is nothing if not logical. There are millions of different ways to enhance the human body, but there are already millions of metahumans in the world. With those, and technological elements for defense, why risk fucktoys and food supplies experimenting on them with too much superpower induction?

But that's not really the question; the answer, after all, is that they shouldn't unless they  _ want _ to.

Like everything else.

The question really is, "what do fucktoys  _ need _ to survive to be useful?" In the long run, Mandy and Lian are hoping to either derive hypoallergenic Gingold from former Shock Circuit jobbers' blood, or better yet, find the original formula somewhere. In the meantime, Warqueen Lita worked to find three common elements between many supersoldier treatments, and one that took more than a little time in the lab simulators to get working right.

Hanna licks her lips, flexing her big arms slowly. She's had a chance to try out the results. Warqueen Lita wanted a middle-of-the-roader to try out the resulting fucktoy. No one's expecting the Super Piggie to be able to take a  _ real _ fucking. But is it enough to at least get a decent buzz going?

A little bit of superstrength, so that they're not vulnerable to other mayflies, and they can more safely be completely enveloped by their mistresses.

A considerable amount of super-toughness and other forms of resilience, so that their mistresses need not worry when they're farmed rough.

A commensurate amount of regeneration, for when the first two aren't enough.

And, most importantly as far as most Hunters are concerned, doubling cock length while tripling cock width. That's enough for most Hunters who aren't the Warqueens or members of the Hundred, to be honest. And you still have to be careful not to crush them  _ too _ hard.

Taken together with her promises, when she comes back for Elwin tomorrow night, she expects he'll be  _ quite _ a tasty little piggy.

But for now, duty.

April and Shawna's murmured well-wishes surround Hanna like their hands on her breasts, over her ass. Kelly's tight hug is a comfort. And Yvette stays with her.

The Deadzones  _ suck _ .

To an extent, literally. The sensoria of Hunters should be able to penetrate everywhere but through sufficient amounts of unworked stone. Screens can keep them out, but you know they're screens-- scrambled sensory effects are rarely subtle.

Only other Hunters, moving like blurs, timing their movements with super-minds, and using socio-emotional manipulation to boot, can really manage  _ subtle _ stealth. If Stealers can, no one's found them yet. Some of the Strong or even the Weak can manage limited forms of invisibility, but what good is it to bend all light around you when such a bend is visible in millions of other ways?

Perhaps it would be better to say, then, that the Deadzones  _ devour _ .

Whatever blocks the senses of the Weak and the sensoria of Hunters alike does not block. It does not absorb, redirect, or bend. It simply refuses to be perceived. So thoroughly, in fact, that even eidetic Hunters forget not only  _ about _ the Deadzone…

_ That I-- and Yvette, and even the Warqueen herself-- sometimes forget that the Southwest exists  _ at all. Hanna shudders; her temples throb like she's stuffed on masochism and Yvette's playing jackhammer with her fists and Hanna's head.  _ It's that field, where you can't perceive. _

_ Nonbeing. Utter nonbeing. _ Hanna forces her mind away before she becomes like Keri.

Keri was so fascinated by the nonbeing field-- like a Weakling watching Keri herself flex good and tight, or jiggle her tits at them-- that she was called within and  _ stuck _ . A Hunter, held and compelled-- like a Weakling!

_ She ran out in time, screaming. But I've never wanted to sense-share that. There are  _ reasons _ Warqueen Lita oathbound us not to try to enter the Deadzones without her direct order. _

Worse, there are reasons why the oaths specify not  _ attempting _ to enter the Deadzones, not just not entering them...

With Elwin down, though, Hanna has a duty.  _ Fuck but he tasted so good. Weak men are the best. _

Yvette snorts.  _ I prefer hard men, _ she purrs, stroking over the ass of the sobbing ex-biker across her lap. Shorn completely from head to toe, Yvette didn't even let him keep his  _ eyebrows _ .

It's a much nicer scene to concentrate on. The Stealer is repugnant, its cattle damaged, dirty, and demented. And compared to the alternatives...

_ I know you do, my love, _ Hanna laughs, covering her unease by concentrating on the way his "taut" glutes tense, squeezing sore red cheeks together. Hanna just finds it all so ridiculous.

_ I know you say a hard man is good to beat, best beloved, but have you found a man, any man, hard enough to deserve the name yet? _

_ Rick? _ Yvette suggests, and it brings whoops of laughter to Hanna, making her nearly fall over. She has to brace her enormous forearms across the rugged tables of her quads.

_ You know what I meant by a  _ man! _ As for Rick, ignoring the  _ mechanical _ difficulties… When exactly is the mistress giving you permission to bring some with one of her favorite toys? _

_ Fifth of never, bitch. Now, love-- how's the pilgrimage going?  _ The flirting helps cover both Hunters' rising Deadzone discomfort.

The "pilgrims," are dusty, dirty, and dwindling. At least five more devoured since Elwin started reporting. Their Stealer "god" is another three meters taller, which is one reason why the Fivefold Warriors didn't just strike at him when he was clear from the Deadzone.

Being that big isn't a guarantee he will be a match for a Hunter, let alone a Pride. But in the contest between "lose more potential slaves to the Stealer and the Deadzone" and "accidentally end up stuck in the Deadzone," the Pride is firmly against risking any members. Nor property even so precious as Elwin  _ was _ .

Hanna agrees. Fortunately, the "god" has already been dancing around the trailing edge, stamping on the line and screaming incantations that mostly seem to be wasting energy on big shiny displays of magic. Expending leftovers from integrating Stolen and devoured flesh into itself, from what they can tell.

The Fivefold Warriors came together from their Pride rightness, but that includes a shared love of roleplaying games. They're complimentary to one another, and their interests mesh so well that they generally keep a few campaigns running at any one time. That said, deciding how random number generation works in the Pridecomm is always a favorite argument.

But that's not the only reason they all wish they understood magic better, nor just because of the standing rewards and favor from Warqueens Lita and Lian for any information. Magic is one of the few axes of power that the Weak-- and Stealers, and others-- can use to fool or even harm a Hunter.

But for now, there's nothing comprehensible in the way the Stealer is waving its arms, summoning multicolored cuboidal lights, and screaming ancient words of  _ Homo magi _ power. Mainly, it looks like a very weird form of a fireworks show. At most, he seems to be testing the power of the barrier.

Hanna forces herself to stand up tall as she exits the apartment, ducking, squeezing, and spiraling to get through the too-small domicile with far less fanfare than when she'd popped in on Elwin.

Not as fun, but she doesn't want to tell Mistress Lita "Yes, I know the Deadzone Barrier came down for two whole microseconds, but if I'd crashed through the building, my boytoy and your Deadzone Scout would have been either exposed or ki-- yes, I'll report to the Kennels…"

The Kennels can be fun, if you earn them the right way. Earn them the  _ wrong  _ way, and Mistress Lita knows how to even make Feeding agonizing in  _ un _ -fun ways. So Hanna makes sure she's plenty clear.

It's time, anyway. The nomads are lining up, for given values of the word "lining," and the Stealer has folded all of its arms in on itself. The fifth pulls out of the fold, and points at a seeming-random row.

They haul out crudely made drums that Hanna grimly marks as human skin; familiar human skin. By the chemical composition, she knows that some of the slaves lost on a border raid three days past won't be coming home. So long as the Stealer's killed early enough that the nomads break and run, Candyland will make back around double their losses, and most humans are interchangeable anyway.

But it's a waste, and Hanna is well-fed. Those were humans that she can imagine were unique to someone. Someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's sister.

Hands slap the skin stretched taut over badly cured wood. There's no training here, no discipline. Some of them are off-step ahead; some of them too slow.

But a unified chant comes up from the bone-and-rags-clad nomads, and somehow, the average of the drums has an inexorable, oily beat. A beat across the bodies of resources lost to the Hunters, women lost to their soap-bubble peers. An  _ offensive _ beat, therefore.

For that matter, Hanna is even well-fed enough to remember that the two skins that are male were precious to someone for who  _ they  _ were. Someone else's Elwins, or more, human to human. She can remember that now, despite having let herself listen to some of the  _ evangelists _ out of the north.

_ My piggie will  _ never _ be used in those fucking ceremonies! _

_ We're Bay Area Candyland, my love,  _ Yvette reminds her, fluttering thoughts running across Hanna's corded throat.  _ We don't really do the Ebon Widow Way thing here. Not High Church, anyway. _

_ Yeah, I know. _ Hanna criss-crosses her arms under her chest again and grimaces, squeezing her fists until the huge knots of strength below her elbows grind back against her abs. She tries to focus her sensorium.

She's very firmly paying attention to the near edge of the Deadzone. The inner corridor is bad enough. Even her pretty piggie has snout enough to tell that if flies won't touch blood-- if mold won't form, if nothing living above the level of bacteria feeds out there and perhaps not even that...

Thump, thump, thump-thump, thump, thump-thump, thump... The beat is growing regular more and more each moment.

Something is wrong.  _ Just get it over with! _ Hanna wills at the Stealer.

She isn't as dominant as Yvette-- wouldn't want to be, she's harsh enough on her piggies as it is-- but she can nudge around the edges.

Yvette slaps her down before she more than tickle, though.  _ Don't you dare risk that thing turning around, woman. I will take Elwin from you for the next month if you get your ass so much as  _ scratched  _ by a flying nail from that thing, do you hear me? _

_ Yes, mistress,  _ Hanna replies sheepishly, ghosting the feeling of her tongue worshiping Yvette's ass.  _ Guess I'm a bit of a piggie myself. _

_ Hah. Even your little Elwin would be running and screaming. You just want this over. _

Hanna closes her eyes, lets her direct gaze be muted, and relaxes into her dominant wife's power.

_ So do we, _ Yvette says, and the whole Pride thrums with it.  _ Now, be smart, and make sure you come home to me. _

The drummers play faster. Roaring, drunken cries less like words and more like screamed gibbering somehow finds a beat, though it's no rhythm that seems recognizable at first. Hanna is careful to make sure she doesn't recognize it directly.

Stealers are alien enough. Only the sense that the Deadzone itself is passively hunting this fool is enough to keep nearby Hunters from mobbing it-- or any of the other sixty or so major Stealers in perception range along the northern Deadzones. No one knows why they're drawn here...

But no one really wants to ask, either. Not with the yawning jaws of the Deadzone's mysterious occupant opening wide. Not with the presence of the Stalker.

_ Also, _ Hanna snorts, _ who'd want to talk to a  _ Stealer _ of all things? _

Hanna plays with a frizzy bang for a while, doing her best not to tap her bare feet upon cold earth. It's not long, thankfully. But it is spectacular.

Though the masculinity of the Stealer is as irrelevant as its male organ, there is something perversely beautiful-- in a nonsexual, alien way-- about the way the oversized and over-numbered muscles begin to pull together. A wicked, blasphemous efficiency, primary and secondary muscles tearing at each other in the absence of tertiary muscles--

Or anything resembling sanity in biomechanical design--

But somehow, it all works.

As probably should be expected, the thing leans forward until three of the lower arms are additional legs. The boiled-wax look of his musculature increases, the bulges of enormous, foul strength bubbling up as though being blown from beneath. Loose dirt flies, but no matter how strong the thing is or isn't, nothing can stretch the settled ground beneath.

The drummers take up the chant as other filthy cultists charge in the creature's wake. Some too close,  _ much _ too close. Yet another useful body is shredded when the Stealer pauses too early to dart around a quartered office building, turned into a fine red mist in an eyeblink.

Hanna grits her teeth. She wants to chase. To wipe this abomination out.

But he's in the Deadzone; already, some of his followers are crying out in agony as they run.

Hanna closes her eyes, shutting down sensory thread after sensory thread. Some of her attention goes back to Elwin, as though she could pet her piggie and feel calmer from it. More joins her wives.

Yvette is spanking her biker still, while making him suck on the middle and forefinger of her left hand. He knows what's going to happen to him, and he knows how much worse it'll be if he doesn't suck like a good piggie. Hanna's chemical sense tastes Yvette's glistening, pale body, her sweat and musk an anodyne to the urge to strike and kill.

Does Yvette not feed her?

Kelly is engaging in her favorite pastime, her strapon's warm latex balls slapping against the hairy rear cheeks of a sobbing former tech CEO. Hanna knows this one, in fact. He screwed one of her online friends' startups out of its patents and its funding and eventually, out of business.

Hanna feels the quivering hog's belly stretch just like Kelly does. Her clit shares in the strapon's clever squeeze, giving them both pleasure to match the Sadism-feeding and the pure satisfaction of turning one of the masters of the old world into a fucking hog. Not for the slaughter, but definitely for the Pride's dinner.

Hogs don't get to become piggies. You have to earn either title. And no hog is likely to get the chance to earn their way out.

Kelly goes through hogs at quite a clip; especially at this stage. The same control she uses to so gently initiate piggies into their lifetime of service is used to bring hogs to the very edge of their endurance, again and again. She's just as effective as that as she is with breaking piggies.

In a way most of them seem to fear even more than having a muscle-sex squeeze their cock dry-- at first. But the ones who won't be broken-- or the ones who  _ offend _ the Pride-- well. At least Kelly is gentler than Shawna or Yvette.

And they'll enjoy their orgasms on the way out. It's a kindness they don't deserve. But, once their passwords and other secrets are gone, neither Mistress Lita nor Yvette care much.

April and Shawna have discarded not just their clothes but their personal piggies, the oinkers sent down to the Pens to think about how lucky they are to be loved so much. Instead, they're grappled together hard. April's left arm is broken in two places, Shawna's vicious punches hard enough to shock her regeneration cold.

But she's got Shawna in a reverse scorpion anyway, thick, shapely thighs squeezing the taller, lankier woman's head and neck brutally. A piggie would be dead by now, even if April was scaling her scissors down to near-piggie potency. Shawna isn't going to last more than a minute, tops, before she passes out.

_ They're so romantic.  _ Hanna wishes she could sense-share in Shawna's M-Drive feeding, but mostly because it would be a distraction from the awfulness of the Deadzone. She's here as a scout.

The real scout, not the placeholder and signal repeater that her piggie will probably never realize he is. That's what she's paying for Elwin's collar and collaring. Bearing witness.

The Stealer doesn't even make it a full kilometer in.

One of the nomads senses it before even Hanna. "The Stalker!" he screams, hands balling into fists. "The Stalker! The Stalker! THE STALKER!"

The cries are rhythmic, and indeed, soon the nomad is hammering his drum out of tune.  _ The fool, _ Hanna rages, understanding the beast's twisted logic now.

_ He's sacrificing useful meat because he thinks his magic drummers can tune out… _

_ Can tune out… _

It's a harsher, slower beat than the others, like a hammer striking an anvil. The reverberations start to overcome the other drummers without changing them at all. Sounds meld until it is the screamer's solo efforts that feel the loudest, and the others, merely context.

_ THE CALL! _ She hammers the thought down as hard as she can. It's too late.

Hanna isn't so lucky as to only  _ hear _ THE STALKER again and again; even humans aren't so spared. That would be bad enough-- THE STALKER repeated in the thumping sounds of the Stealer's hands and feet smashing against the ground as it runs, in the faint splatters and sizzles of its drool. Bad enough, indeed, "hearing" THE STALKER in every shiver and shudder of the ecstatic nomads.

A protective part of her, a good monster who's mostly shucked off thinking she's a bad person, is so grateful Elwin will sleep through this. She can punish him in so many more productive ways. This… Might devour her pretty piggie in ways that won't let her use him again.

And she promised.

That's meaningless in moments; all of Hanna's senses are full of the knowledge of  _ the  _ Deadzone predator.  _ No one knows who she is, just that she hates Stealers. No one even knows if the Stalker is even a Hunter. _

But anyone this close to a Deadzone,  _ any _ Deadzone, isn't just aware of the Stalker's presence when she comes. It's forced in through every aspect of one's senses. Even Hanna's chemical senses are full of a metallic, spicy bitterness that triggers memories.

Talking to two of her friends, allies of the Pride. Big, beautiful woman, laughing and sneering. The memory had been fun...

"Ugh, did you hear that Carol was stalking Jenny's boytoys? Jenny had to break her legs  _ and _ haul her before the Warqueen." The bitter taste of the Stalker wasn't there when it happened.

Now it always will be. Hanna's memory is linked to that taste now. Even though it had nothing to do with the Deadzones!

But the scent flays into her mind, reaching more specific memories. Hushed tones, speaking to other sentry Prides about a pack of hiding humans along the edges of the territory. "The Stalker got them."

The spice and the metal are more easily recognizable to this link. Fear. Fear in Hunters, not of Warqueens or of their promises broken, but from what happened to  _ humans! _

They plow on. Every memory where even the sound or the concept was present are invoked by that tangy, choking scent. Hanna herself, fearful, speaking to Jenny, an immense black woman nearly fifty centimeters taller than Hanna herself.

"Lucy just narrowly missed being killed by the Stalker-- her regeneration didn't work for a week!" Just words then; not ever again.

Even pre-Pulse memories. "Courtroom proceedings ended today with all charges dropped against the so-called Tights Stalker," "See how the tiger stalks through the tall grass."

Even memories of a  _ stalk of grass _ are full of the sense of a predator, vast and ravenous.

Hanna can't see the Stalker, but her powerful vision sense tells her that the Stalker is present. No; the landscape screams it. It all does now.

The Screamer isn't the only thing howling "THE STALKER! THE STALKER! THE STALKER!"

The clouds of dust spell the letters without ever changing shape. The shadows of shattered buildings are alarms. Even the way the Stealer is barrelling full-tilt inwards just… keeps…  _ screaming! _

THE STALKER! THE STALKER! THE STALKER!

Hanna arches her back, biting her lip. Her clit is feeling it now; as sweat drips down her forehead and her eyes water, her Masochism Drive flicks at her. Shuddering muscles swell and bulge as the pain and the terror race through them, squeezing and only but little releasing.

Her jaw is slack and her eyes rolled back. She barely feels it when her big ass begins to squirm and her big hips begin to swing and her big legs begin to fall forward. The Deadzone is there.

The Stalker is there.

It feels like she's being dragged by her lips-- both pairs. Pinched. Hauled. Not allowed to turn away or even rest from the screams of the land and the Screamer's chant.

The other drums have picked up his beat. Those nomads who followed their Stealer "god" into the Deadzones have begun to cry out in terror and turn away. The beast himself slams forward and deeper in, but everyone else feels the ire of the Stalker.

THE STALKER!

"THE STALKER! THE STALKER!"

THE STALKER! THE STALKER!

"THE STALKER! THE STALKER! THE STALKER!"

Hanna's abs roll and her left hip pushes forward from her center of mass just a bit more. The chant is a lure and a terror both. And it's worked.

She squirms, huge shoulders wriggling as she tiptoes towards the Deadzone.

She can barely hear her Pride, barely feel them. Somehow, her connection to them is fritzy, slow. They're only just beginning to be concerned.

They should be much more worried. The full-sensorium experience of the Stalker's angry, hungry viciousness bears down on her, through her. Pulls at her tits the way gravity can't; makes her muscles squeeze and compact the way no other opponent save a Hunter could.

But she isn't pulled straight down. With the fishhook-like sensations tugging harder and harder, Hanna is pulled in. Pulled deeper in.

Or more properly-- towards.

To the Deadzone. And the Stalker.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go never into the Deadzones unless called, my-our daughters," she-he rumbles. "And be you wary to avoid that call at all if possible."
> 
> So said Gaia-Geb to her-his High Priestess, crowned and raised but three months past. That ban remains, and weaker Hunters should remain wary. But the new empires rise out of the ashes of the Age of Heroes...
> 
> And someone has to keep an eye out. Usually, the Fivefold Warriors watch "through" Elwin Yeung, using social resonance with him and Moto-Lita to filter the power of the Deadzones. But they also used that to help them restrain Hanna with Elwin, letting her Hungers and her history mix. It was audacious, and the Warqueen approved.
> 
> But when you fuck your scout and relay point into unconsciousness, someone has to pick up the slack Now, as the giant Horror-Stealer charges into the Deadzone, only to die, Hanna is caught along with him and the humans it's her job to retrieve. Only desperate action by her wives, devoted to their oaths and liege, allows her to survive, and the memory never fades.
> 
> But it does ebb, despite being eidetic.
> 
> Hanna Davis is ransomed out of the crucible of the Deadzone, but a fine bevy of slaves is not the only prize she gains...

The power is all around Hanna Davis now. Her huge, brawny body is drawn inexorably towards the forbidden edge of the Deadzones. For once, since the Pulse, her body is not her own.

Well-- once not in the bed or otherwise the embrace of her Warqueens, of course. Warqueen Mandy is even more pushy than Warqueen Lita! The memory of that delight is so far away.

But this-- while full of suffering so rich and fierce that Hanna's M-Drive is screaming for a climax almost as loudly as her few free mental threads are screaming for her to flee-- this… is nothing so pleasurable as being forced into a sleeper hold or leg lock by Candy Mandy.

This is Hell, come to the changed Earth.

The bloodpools quiver, but not in time with the thudding gait of the Stealer. The remnant glass screams under the wind of its passing-- but hiss a name,  _ the _ name of  _ the _ Deadzone predator. Dust rises, and the whorls and swirls read as some alien language, horribly comprehensible.

_ The Stalker… The Stalker, dear Gaia-Geb, the Stalker! _

Hanna's body is pulled along without her consent and barely with her knowledge. Her dark brown eyes stretch out wide, pupils narrow and tan skin paling, but forward she steps. Beautiful, buff musculature swells, even her forearm larger than the largest human weightlifter's  _ legs _ \-- but it all trembles and shakes.

Oh, she hardens; the flexing, firm strength powerful and battle-hardened. But step after step, she travels towards the nomads, towards the Stealer…

Towards the Deadzone.

Then it happens. Hanna will forever be grateful for the M-Drive haze, even for the compulsion itself-- grateful to be more than half blinded in her sensoria. She doesn't see it happen, not fully.

In part, that's because there's nothing for her to see. One moment the slavering giant is barrelling forward faster and faster, trying to outrun its own slaves' drums-- and screams. Then the next…

Burst.

She just sees the exploding cloud of red and grey. Fresh blood paints nearby buildings-- fresh blood paints buildings as far away as fifty meters back past  _ Hanna _ . She's freakishly untouched, but she does see the limbs, travelling forward in alternate directions.

Just briefly. Long enough to see the torn tendons and ragged skin. The torso is completely gone, and she has no idea where the head went.

No part of her increasingly stunned mental threads entirely  _ wants _ to. Little of her enough can tell; her mega-amazonian body convulses all at once, powerful primary and secondary muscles entering hyper-flexion and her tertiaries squeezing around them in odd directions. Jaw dropping wider and tongue lolling open, she crashes to her knees, drooling, screaming--

Cumming.

Her job is to collect the humans. Useful slaves, and moreover, useful slaves taken back from Stealers. A thumb in the eye of their collective racial enemy.

A way to make up for that which was taken from Candyland, even if nomads like these are usually quite damaged in the head (and ill in health) even before they make it to the Deadzone border.

They're screaming and milling about; some running, leaving clear, easy trails, and their flight no better than standing still against a Hunter.

Hanna can't do her job. All she can do is toss her head about and wail as the orgasm hits. Thankfully, her Pride is ready.

In the endless moment, they surround her, the savage, ferocious wills and minds of all four of her wives by her side just like they're in her head. Of course, the copies in her head are screaming with her. But they manage to damp down the worst of it.

_ Hanna, get  _ up! _ Get up, love! _ Kelly roars in her head, her fucktoy hog discarded, hurled over to her Ebon Widow guards.

The Pride is militarizing nearly as fast as they can speak to Hanna, personal pleasures forgotten. They do not come to her side, not yet-- not without a direct, immediate assault.

After all, what can they do if the Stalker decides to take her?

They come together, all save Shawna, stumbling out of her M-Drive feeding.  _ Her _ job is messenger, and command communications. Once they are together, once they are unified as their oaths to the Warqueen require, they charge out to her so fast that the air burns around them even with their fluidic-manipulation twisting...

Hanna shakes and shudders as they assemble and come. THE STALKER THE STALKER THE STALKER THE STALKER. It's not just the nomads that are screaming it now. It echoes in every sensory input from the Deadzone.

_ Hanna? Hanna, get out of there, that is a damn order!  _ She can't hear Yvette over the silent screaming.

No. Not silent. Just not spoken.

Where the wind whips over pools of uncoagulated blood, the crisp flick and fluid gurgles scream THE STALKER. Where dust scratches microscopically against already chipped car paint, there, THE STALKER is etched. The crazy patterns in the blood-pools, the light thrown through shattered glass, the clouds of dust and worse as it rolls past the no-perception far border...

THE STALKER! THE STALKER! THE STALKER! THE STALKER!

Only the Screamer is standing now. The others are kneeling before an enraged Kelly, bare except for her strapon. She's roaring at them, and the copy of Kelly in Hanna's mind is yelling at her too, but it's so faint and so far away.

Hanna is less than three meters from the border now. The Screamer is howling his head off. His tongue has been cut by his teeth; the edges of his cheeks are cut where he's managed to force his jaw wider than they can handle.

Yvette and April have disentangled themselves from their various concerns. Shawna's personalized M-Drive feeding is lost in the Pride's sudden flood of suffering, but she's hightailed it into Mistress Lita's presence, babbling.

Suddenly, Hanna realizes that the Screamer has been walking with her the whole way. "The Stalker!" wails the tiny human, more than ten centimeters under a second meter.

_ He won't stop! He wont stop! He won't stop, oh Gaia-Geb, why won't he STOP!? _

_ You are a Hunter! _

Hanna isn't sure which of her wives said it. Maybe it was Mistress Lita. Maybe it was the Deadzone, contemptuous of her weakness.

Her sex is sobbing almost as much as the Screamer. Her Masochism-Hunger is glutting; her paranoid sensorium reporting every possible pattern, even of radioactive decay, screaming out THE STALKER THE STALKER THE STALKER THE STALKER over and over again. Unending, perhaps lifetimes spent within; perhaps no longer than realtime.

She knows, will always know, she isn't that lucky.

In time with the Screamer's voice. Hanna's lips pull back in a hateful grimace. Her brawny arm slams out, huge muscles bulging with the sudden action, and the very air ignites.

She punches so hard that moments after her fist lands, the superheated air that would have vaporized the Screamer anyway hits the gore cloud that is all which remains of the Screamer.

THESTALKERTHESTALKERTHESTA...

The Stalker. The Stalker is here! All four present members of the Pride are together, meters back from the border, when the clouds of dust suddenly pull back.

There are too many limbs and too much blood for it to just be the giant Stealer "god." This message has been written slowly, its ink self-delivered over the past month or so. Some of it is written in the Hunt for Stealers. Some of it is written in Hunters.

The Pride recognizes Elouette's torso by a few familiar body contours from the time she was an ambitious and backstabbing fellow vassal. By the body they fought alongside and competed with-- and the lingering stench of the oaths she broke to Mistress Lita.

The Pride knows that arm over there, and that thigh to the right belonged to a Stealer who was hitting the shared border with West Mountain and managed to kill two Hunters before being forced away by a Throng.

Another Hunter is only recognizable by the shreds of her favorite sweatshorts-- this one had betrayed Candy Mandy.

An arm from each oathbreaker forms the bridges for the As. Does it mean something? Do they want to know?

_ The Stalker is here! _ No one can see the Stalker… No one can sense the Stalker  _ precisely _ …

But the Stalker  _ is  _ here! This is the Stalker's handiwork, horrible, violent, and bloody. Do they want to know?

...

No. The Pride does  _ not  _ want to know. The Pride wants to leave, to take Elwin and run to the Warqueens' court and beg for release from their oaths.

The bodies of rivals and enemies, traitors and Stealers are commingled. Each headless. Their corpses have been used to make letters. Hunters, Stealers, and even humans piled in a precise, even script, shredded in awful ways to fit each other.

GO AWAY.

It is underlined by the giant Stealer's head. The Stalker is gone. The Screamer has stopped screaming, forever.

(Except… Except in the Pride's memory. Forever.)

Fear and anger and the stuffing, invasive feeding the Stalker forces upon them all lingers. Hate and rage piles through all four Hunters. They saw Hanna in her vulnerability. They  _ contaminated _ Hanna with the Stalker's wrath.

The Pride will not tolerate this.

Yvette is there, massive, shielding Hanna's convulsing body with her own. Muscles ripple up and down the naked mini-giantess' powerful form; if Hunters in general look like the wet dreams of bodybuilding fetishists turned to nightmares of cruel power, Yvette has a pretty good shot at best in weight class. Short, black hair and dark green eyes, her fists are already curled as she looks over the cowering nomads, to see who must suffer for her wife first.

Cowering, and as they notice the Hunters come for them, many masturbating.

"All of them," Kelly says. Black hair too, but with bright blue eyes that almost always seem completely at odds with her vicious,  _ invasive _ style of domination. It's worse when they don't.

Shorter, thinner in the shoulders, but for a Hunter, she's the whipcord type, like Mistress Lian. Her firm hand is already stroking over the top of her Hunter-scaled strap-on, as though she could feel it as an extension of herself. Her tongue teases over black-painted lips, and she gently strokes Yvette's clenching bicep, broader around than any four nomads' heads stacked together.

Hanna can distantly hear them talking; Kelly, well fed as ever, firmly standing up to her most dominant wife. Oaths are invoked; truths told. But all Hanna can think of is--

_ The Sta-- _

The Frozen Moment has so many uses. Strategy, planning, endless time to do all the RPG campaigns you could ever come up with. Even enough time to make entirely new worlds and systems…

Not to mention endlessly planning out every motion in combat, gaming out the possible results, and tirelessly planning so that each and every action is done to the level of perfection not scaled to one Hunter, but to two-- to all.

Prides use them to discuss, to advise, to tease-- it is an endless moment, and the total communion of senses and minds that follows. There's lifetimes’ worth of opportunities. And every Pride, sooner or later, uses them to comfort.

So when Hanna's mind is full of the terrible breach, when  _ GO AWAY _ seems to draw her in…

Then no matter how many discussions and arguments and side projects the others have, all five, from the three at her side to anxious Shawna reporting matters to the Warqueen and replying with the Warqueen's  _ confidence _ that the Fivefold Warriors will handle the matter competently--

And  _ compliantly _ \--

They are all around her. The screams of the Deadzone have had their victory. But the Screamer is silenced, and if the Pride is prohibited from visiting the same upon his fellows, they will take  _ their _ victory, thrice over.

First, for Hanna, little Elwin. Fragile toy left the shelf for his own good. He sleeps, exhausted from feeding (and serving) his mistress well.

To be honest, the whole Pride is looking forward to Hanna's cheer and Hanna's pleasure, confident that it will return soon.

Second,  _ by _ Hanna, who kept the horrible watch and earned the Pride their loot. While all else occurs, Kelly is sampling the new piggies' obedience and eagerness, women and men alike, to humiliate themselves on her synthetic phallus. She serves; using the reservoir to nano-tag the best ones for the Warqueen and the next most choice for the Pride in as messy a way as possible.

The ones who turn and run, the ones who refuse, the ones who fight-- well, they're marked, too, with the sleepyjizz. Their wiser compatriots will give their second service to the Pride by hauling them to the waiting carryform.

But most importantly, and instantly as far as the new piggies can tell, the Pride is victorious  _ with _ Hanna. In the endless moment, she is loved by them all simultaneously. April strokes her cheeks with both hands, kissing her tenderly on the lips.

This is Pride. As real as the physical. Their bodies are flush, warm together, the hardness of their muscles comforting and just pliant enough to be comforting supports for each other.

But another set of mental threads, fully simulating sight, taste, sound, scent, and most of all touch, has a more aggressive pleasuring. Kneeling between Hanna's spread legs, on the edge of the memory of the bed on which she took Elwin, Kelly, harsh, ferocious Kelly, runs her fingertips back through the side of her short, blonde hair. Then smiles up at Hanna.

_ We love you, Hanna. Stay with us. _ But it's only after her tongue and lips are fully occupied with Hanna's sex that another thread whispers,  _ You promised, _ at Hanna.

The Pride has no big-L Locus, no speaker for the consensus of the Pride. But it speaks with them, and through them, little knots of mental threads. Love and care and safety and sex; the consensus adores Hanna, yes it does.

**_We love you._ ** The consensus doesn't speak much yet; it's too young of a thing to be more than emotion, most of the time. But it does love.

Hanna will never be alone again.

Yet another thread locus is Shawna's, knelt beside Hanna, this version of her resting on her back. Shawna's fingers endlessly trigger the nerves of Hanna's pretty pussy but that's not where she gives her wife the most comfort. Head bobbing and tongue swirling like the best-trained of Kelly's better-kept piggies, Shawna's mouth is distended over Hanna's right nipple.

Blowing it like she had a futa Hunter's cock.

But of greatest comfort, as is her duty, Yvette holds Hanna tenderly. In mental locus after locus, the warm, vast presence of Hanna's dominant surrounds her. No sensory distortions; simply the larger woman pulling the chain-clad Hanna into her lap, resting breast to breast, and head to shoulder.

Just as though they were alone with no one else to see, in her mind, Hanna is surrounded by the power that rules her, disciplines her, rapes her-- and protects her. Muscles the size of office furniture press and rub against Hanna's own powerful frame.

In her mind, the Deadzone is gone, and there is only the warmth and scent and  _ presence _ of Yvette and the Pride.

Hanna's mind shudders; Hanna's body rises, a smug, possessive look on her face.

She nestles in against Yvette's side, leering down at the kneeling mortals. "Stealer-worshiping trash, Yvette. Are we sure the Warqueen wants them alive?"

Groans and whimpers run through the assembled humans. Some begin to cry. Especially the younger ones.

But none speak. Kelly smirks, in the middle of hilting her strapon down the surprised and squirming mouth of a once-fit looking woman. "They  _ do _ know to be quiet when their betters speak."

Then she caresses the hair and cheek of her nomadic faux-cocksock. "Except as is appropriate, of course," she laughs.

Before grabbing the cocksock's hair, yanking forward, clenching her glutes-- each one bigger than a bowling ball stuffed into a basketball-- to pound her deep and rough into her throat.

Hanna finds the gagging and choking quite lovely, indeed. She laughs, and nuzzles her silent dominant's bicep. "Maybe we  _ can _ find some use for them… if only providing Kelly some holes to keep that thing warm and wet."

Yvette smirks, and cups Hanna's firm, fleshy hind end. "We'll take them all. Lock the carryform. Kelly, you keeping that one?"

Moaning, Kelly grunts, "She sucks cock like a pro! Like a politician, even!"

Yvette snorts, and makes a hand motion. The smallest of the Fivefold Warriors, Kelly is still an immensely strong Hunter, powerful and vast. Obedient to her dominant and her promises.

She pulls the nomad up until her torso is resting between Kelly's mountainous mammaries. Without missing a beat thrusting her dildo up into the woman's distended mouth, Kelly flexes her pecs and hardens her tits. " _ Fuck _ but I wish we had that stretchy-soda stuff, I really do-- I wanna use the hog-pounder on all of them!"   
  


"You just want practice for if you get to use it on us!"

"April, you know I'll get you sooner or later… you could just make it easier on yourself!"

Laughing happily, the Pride cages the rest of the nomads in the broad carryform. Just a broad, very flat metal cylinder, two and a half meters tall on the outside with a six meter radius, it's padded on the inside and has an inertial dampening field. So when Hanna picks it up and starts whistling, the humans barely feel it.

Of course, they can't move and will find it hard to breathe, but they'll survive anyway; the Pride has them home before they can suffocate, surrounded by breathable air.

Their new forever home, the poor stray things.

They are rewarded, the Fivefold Warriors. Even if Hanna has to endure a rather intense session with Warqueen Lita, transmitting complete memories-- including of Elwin-- to the immensely curvy, plush, and terrifyingly powerful three point two-eight meter woman. Indeed, Hanna's got quite the M-Drive glut by the time all is said and done.

But that very night, whether meditating, snuggling, or actually sleeping like Hanna, all five dream of distant drums.

  
Drums, and the face of the Screamer, still wailing, "THE STALKER!" over and over again.

Morning does not come kindly that day.


End file.
